


When I'm Falling

by phoenixreal



Series: Falling [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF John Watson, Beginning Johnlock, Bisexual John, Confused Sherlock, Cutting, Demisexual Sherlock, Drug Addiction, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Obsession, Protective John, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Underage Drug Use, Unilock, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixreal/pseuds/phoenixreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unilock.  Prequel to Catch Me If I Fall.  How John saved Sherlock three times, and then every day.</p><p>Mike Stamford and Sherlock Holmes are dorm mates, and John Watson is a friend of Mike's who comes to visit before a party.  He's fascinated by Sherlock, and later at the party finds out that his admireer (stalker) has decided he's tired of being turned down all the time.  When all is said and done, John finds a bleeding Sherlock when he feels the only exit from shame is his own death.  Sherlock is angry and pushes away everyone, turning instead to artificial means of relief.  A Doctor comes in and saves him once more.  Now the question is how can he save him a third and final time?  And can he do it in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Take No

The university life was supposed to be better. The people were supposed to be more understanding, more intelligent, and more able to handle his…eccentricities. Mycroft had warned him not to get close to people because it led to hurt and pain and Sherlock tried very hard. Unfortunately, instead of simply staying away from people and avoiding attention, he tended to attract unwanted attention of all sorts. And he couldn't understand most of the attention he got. His tendency to be unabashedly honest got him a reputation quickly. And that, actually, worked in his favor by keeping people away from him in most cases. But then there were those that came after him for other reasons than his intelligence. Like Caleb Macavoy.

"Come _on_ , Sherl, you gotta come to this party, I promise, you'll have a great time!" Caleb said as Sherlock tried to make his way past him to his next class. "I'll make sure you have fun."

"I'm not interested in such things, please," Sherlock responded, as usual. He had turned down Caleb six times in the last three weeks. And he kept coming back no matter how bluntly he put things.

Caleb stepped in front of him, stopping him effectively, flashing his thousand watt smile as though it would change things. "Sherl, all work and no play makes you a dull boy," he said, winking one hazel eye at him.

"I will be dull, then. I have to get to class, Caleb. I have no time for your molestations," he said, stepping around him and using his long legs to his advantage to move away before he could move to follow him.

"Dude, when are you gonna give up on that freak?" another voice said, coming up on Caleb.

Caleb turned to his friend, Vincent Daniels. "Oh, not gonna give up. Have you seen him? I'm dying to see if that alabaster skin is as flawless as it seems…"

"There are better looking first years with much more amicable personalities, you know," his other friend, Eric Shackleford, said as he pushed up his glasses.

Among the group, only Caleb was of the preference for boys. In particular, younger boys that were new to the uni life. He liked to use his position as an upperclassman to his advantage, and his size and strength as a football player as well. He was popular, well liked, and well known. And never before had he been turned down by someone so often. And it only made him more interested. Not only was he uninterested in Caleb, it seemed, he had little to no interest in anyone, stating flat out the first time Caleb came onto him that he was asexual and had no interest in either sex, and kindly leave him alone. Caleb took it as a challenge. A real, honest challenge, to change this exotic, unattainable creature into some sort of sex fiend. He smiled at his two closest friends.

"But they are too easy. They fall at my feet when I pass by and beg me to fuck them senseless so they have some sort of badge of honor that Caleb fucking Macavoy took their virginity. No, no, this one…" he said, grinning even wider.

"You realize he's also younger than the rest of his classmates? He's barely sixteen," Eric provided. "If something goes wrong…he is underage, even though he's in uni."

Caleb arched a brow at Eric. "Oh, really? I knew he looked young, but didn't realize he was that young. So he's that smart, huh…even better."

"I still think this is a bad idea," muttered Vincent with a shake of his blond head. "I mean, you are going to so be frustrated if you keep this up and ignoring the easier fucks."

Caleb shook his head. "But don't you see, it isn't about an easy fuck. This is about power and control, my friends. I love to feel them under me, begging me and loving every minute, and knowing I put them there. And this one…the challenge, the chase, it is indeed exhilarating."

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

"Mycroft, everything is perfectly fine," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes as he flopped onto his bed.

" _Sherlock."_

"No, I'm fine, they're fine, we're all fine."

_"Sherlock, I know something is going one, what is it? I'm your older brother for a reason. I would like to keep an eye on you. You aren't exactly the most aware of your surroundings."_

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes again. "Just a guy that keeps bothering me."

Mycroft snorted. They'd been through bullying so much in boarding school with his younger brother. They'd gone through three before he finally got done early with a healthy dose of homeschooling.

_"Bothering you, how exactly?"_

"Nothing big, just keeps asking me to go to parties and stuff, and doesn't seem to understand I have no interest. I told him the first time that I was completely uninterested in him or anyone else, but he is…persistent," he said with a sigh.

_"Has he done anything?"_

"Mycroft, no, for godssakes. He just follows me about and keeps begging me to go to parties and telling me I need to loosen up and stuff like that. I guess he has a reputation for dating new students and they generally fall at his feet. I suppose he is interested in the pursuit," he said, rubbing a hand over his hair.

 _"Who is he?"_ Mycroft's voice had that overprotective tone to it that meant he was about to become involved.

"It isn't important; he's not doing anything, just a nuisance. Now please, I can handle some things in my life by myself, Mycroft," he said with another sigh.

_"I understand, but Sherlock, you aren't as old as most of the students…and you are at a disadvantage because of it."_

"I'm well aware, Mycroft. Mummy told me multiple times and so did my advisor," he said, huffing another sigh and flipping to lie on his stomach. "I am vastly more intelligent than most of them, including the professors. I think I can handle myself."

_"Sherlock, I know that, but people are unpredictable sometimes. You need to be cautious."_

"Bye, Mycroft," he said, clicking the phone off. He always tried to do this to him, run his life. He would know immediately if Caleb's intentions were to do anything untoward to him. At least, he hoped he did. He looked up as Mike came in.

"Hey, Holmes, how is it?" he said, flopping on the opposite bed.

Sherlock waved his hand toward him. "Stamford, the usual," he said, standing and looking through his bag for his chemistry work.

"So, I've got a buddy coming in tonight, you okay with that?" he said, putting away his books in his trunk.

Sherlock was lucky when it came to his roommate. Mike Stamford was exceedingly easy to get along with and was never bothered by Sherlock's surly moods. He left Sherlock alone when he wanted it, but he often tried to speak with him anyway. But he wasn't put off by Sherlock's dismissal of him. Mike had accepted him as a he was, something that not many people did.

"No problem, I likely will not notice the presence of another. I have reading before tomorrow," Sherlock said, sitting back on the bed and propping his book on his knees.

Mike nodded and tidied up a bit, putting his clothes away before his friend arrived. Sherlock was a bit curious, but it really didn't matter. Mike wasn't really his friend, he was his roommate and his acquaintance that put up with him. He was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't hear the knock at the door and Mike's announcement that his friend had arrived.

"Sherlock!" came Mike's voice by his ear. He jolted and looked up between Mike and a boy with sandy colored hair that looked about Mike's age.

"What?" he said, reflexively, blinking.

"Sherlock Holmes, my roommate," he said, pointing to him and then smiled. "John Watson, he's pre-med," he said.

Sherlock sighed. "Obviously. His sister is a drunk, currently having issues with her boy…no girlfriend…and she's got an obnoxiously annoying puppy at her flat which is where you just came from. A shar pei, or some mixed breed including it, but I rather think it is a pedigreed dog, but has terrible breath and drools excessively even for the breed. She's also a terrible cook, but you try your best to eat when she offers you tea. Today was an attempt at a late breakfast, omelets with spinach it seems. You also play football, and missed practice today, but just barely, and…" Sherlock stopped, blinking when he realized both boys were staring openly at him. "Oh, yes."

Sherlock picked his book back up and began to read again waiting for the inevitable questioning and indications of what a freak he was.

"Wow, that…that…" John stammered, adjusting his leather jacket. "That was bloody amazing!"

Sherlock frowned and looked up at him with curious eyes. "Mike told me about that, but wow, that's…just fantastic!"

"That's not the usual reaction I get," he muttered, looking over the new boy for signs of prevarication. He found none. Only open, unabashed amazement at Sherlock's skills.

"Oh?" John said, sitting down by his feet. "What do people usually say?"

"Piss off, or something like it," he said, tilting his head to the side and frowning deeper at the curious man.

John smiled a lopsided grin and snorted. "Fuck, they're just jealous of you, no one else can do that, I bet," he said.

"My brother does it better than I do," he said, honestly. "But he has a lot better luck with people skills."

John grinned at him. "Fuck people skills. You don't need them, they're overrated."

Again, Sherlock was surprised, raising a brow at him. Generally, he disliked cursing. It usually indicated a lack of sufficient vocabulary. However, it seemed so natural…and beautiful…coming out of John's mouth. Beautiful? Sherlock blinked, extremely confused by that thought. True, he'd been attracted to people once or twice in his life, hardly enough to move himself out of the asexual position, but it had been hormones at the time brought on by puberty. Now, why did he think that something as vulgar as foul language was beautiful when spoken by this young man? He was obviously an older student, toward the end of his medical studies, maybe as old as Caleb and his crew.

"Yes, but my lack of people skills generally serves to keep people at a distance, which I prefer," he said with a sigh, closing his book, sufficiently distracted by the new presence to not be able to read.

"Oh, hey, John knows your admirer," Mike said, flopping onto his own bed.

Sherlock shook his head. "Admirer, you mean stalker," he muttered, leaning back. "He was at it again today, I swear, I would think turning him down nineteen times in a row would be enough for him."

John looked between the two roommates. "Good night, who doesn't get the message after nineteen times?"

Sherlock snorted. "Caleb Macavoy apparently. He isn't used to hearing no."

Sherlock didn't miss the odd look to cross John's face. "Caleb?" he said, almost too softly.

"What do you know about him?" Mike asked, frowning.

"Oh, way too much. I'm on the team with him, at least until I start internship and can't play anymore. He's the captain, of course. And has a penchant for dating younger teammates until he tires of them, then dumping them for younger ones. Of course, not only on the team, but he always goes for first years," John said, frowning deeply now. "He's not very kind about them afterward, either. Telling the entire team what they did and how inadequate they were. I think he gets off on the power trip more than anything. But most the first years will fall to him, more than willing to date a popular guy even for a week or two. He's a fucking right cock, he is."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, he apparently doesn't understand the term 'asexual' either though I explained it to him the first time he indicated he wished to initiate a romantic relation with me."

John blinked. "Ah, well, I doubt he's ever encountered someone with that sexual orientation…"

"Never seen anything like it, myself, either John. I swear, I think I'm rooming with a monk sometimes," Mike said, chuckling. "Never wanna get rid of this bloke as my roomie. No socks on the door, no midnight wanking sessions…worst he does is play his violin, but he's bloody good at it, so it doesn't bother me."

"Really?" John said with a smile. "The sexuality spectrum always fascinated me. Are you entirely asexual? Or are you more gray or demi?" he asked, perceptively.

Sherlock knitted his brows. "Gray, I suppose, but one would have to have a meaningful emotional attachment to determine if one is demisexual. Something I've never had, so I suppose for now, I consider myself gray asexual."

Mike frowned, obviously confused. John helped out. "Demisexuals are asexual for the majority of the time, but they can have a sexual attraction to a person they have formed an emotional bond to first. Gray are those that every once in a while feel sexual attraction, but it can be fleeting or nearly non-existent."

"So is that why you're such a cold, logical, bloke?" Mike asked, frowning, still not understanding completely.

"Emotions are a hindrance, they cloud the mind and interrupt the pursuit of knowledge," Sherlock said frankly. "I thrive on logic and knowledge. Sentiment is a property of those that cannot control themselves."

John smiled, and Sherlock frowned at him. "You are more amused by this than you should be, Watson," Sherlock said.

"Can't help it, I find you fascinating, Holmes. For one, I have never actually met an asexual, and I've never met someone so entirely set on their left brain," He said.

Sherlock smiled despite himself. He was being praised for these things that most people teased him for. "Well, I'm glad to have fascinated someone, dear Watson," he said. "Most people don't like me. I'm used to it, to be honest. I don't have what you would call 'friends'. I suppose Mike would be the closest to that category."

"Sherlock's had his share of bullying during school," Mike supplied, being met with an eye roll from Sherlock. "His brother came with him the first day, had a little heart to heart with me. I really don't want to piss off his brother."

"I just got off the phone with him," Sherlock mumbled. "He's overly interested in the situation with Caleb. I told him to piss off about it."

Mike smiled. "Of course, he pulled you out of boarding school to get away from the wankers that were messing with you how many times? He worries about you, Sherlock. "

"He just likes to use his position as a member of the government to interfere in my life," Sherlock mumbled, in that moment, very much like a petulant child. John grinned to himself.

"John, you should know that Sherlock just turned sixteen in January," Mike said, looking at him. John blinked.

"Bloody hell, and you're already half a year through uni?" he said, turning toward him again and blinking.

Sherlock sighed, his head thunking the wall behind him. "Yes, yes…I'd rather not advertise the fact. I have enough problems without everyone knowing I'm bloody sixteen."

John frowned and looked at Mike with a worried glance. "Ah, yeah, well, nice to meet you Sherlock, hope to talk again soon, but Mike and I are going to a party tonight."

"Ah yes, I'm sure it is the one Caleb was trying to get me to go to today. Please, shove some other unsuspecting child at him so he'll be distracted from bothering me, I have chemistry to read before tomorrow," he said, picking his book back up and resuming his study.

John nodded and they headed out. They were quiet until they got to Mike's car when John put a hand on him before he started it.

"Mike, you need to keep an eye on him if Caleb's got his eye on him. He doesn't take no for an answer. In fact, there's a lot of rumors about how he's _never_ taken no for an answer if you get my drift," John said, brown furrowed.

"You think he's actually taken it that far? I mean, I've heard he's an arse, and pretty damn relentless, but that's…" Mike said thoughtfully, hands dropping to his lap.

John shook his head. "Yeah, but those things are what leaves the locker room, if you get me. What I hear, and the rest of the team hears, is a lot more. There's more than one that have left uni after being his boy toy for a few weeks. And the things he says he does with them…even the most consenting person would balk at some of it. I just think…if he's got his eye set on Sherlock, you should make sure he's not alone too much of the time, you know? He's obviously not going to give in, and do what he wants, and it will piss him off. He's not known for his temper control on the field. He's obsessed with young and inexperienced boys, and if he figures out that Sherlock's sixteen…"

Mike frowned. "Something else, John?"

"It's just that I've overheard some things, just in passing, when he's talking to his two cronies. He's always talking about his 'boy' that he's going after. That he won't be turned down forever, and the like. And I've got to wonder how long his patience is going to win out, since he's been pursuing him for months now from what I understand. And he hasn't been in a relationship since he started this thing for him. Sherlock's right about him not being used to hearing no."

Mike nodded. "But I don't know what I can do, he spends most nights either in the library or the chem labs, and usually he comes onto him between classes…"

John shook his head. "I don't know, let's get to the party though. Maybe I can hear something that might help out. Keep your ears open. I'm sure Caleb will be there with Eric and Vince. They're inseparable. But maybe I can get Eric to talk. He's the nerdy one of the bunch and typically will escape when they're drunk."

Mike nodded and started the car and they headed to the large house. The party was in full swing, loud music pumping out, and cars parked all around it. They got in and were handed entrance drinks and set about to mingling. It didn't take long before both took notice of Caleb and his two cronies. Vincent was all over a girl who was sitting drunkenly in his lap. Eric was sipping at a cup of something with a great deal of disinterest at the debauchery taking place around him. Caleb was pawing at a younger man on the team who had been pulled into his lap. Jeff was his name, John thought. He was obviously very drunk, and wobbled on Caleb's lap, giggling madly as Caleb spoke into his ear. John thought it was a good sign. If Caleb was looking for a shag, maybe he'd let…

Just then he shoved the boy off his lap, sending him sprawling to the floor, blinking because he couldn't figure out what happened. Both Vince and Eric looked over. Caleb was frowning, and he just muttered something and stood up, stepping over Jeff and moving to the loo. Eric got up and shook his head. John grabbed him as he passed.

"He piss Caleb off? Looked like a good shag, to me…seemed willing enough…" John asked.

Eric rolled his blue eyes. "He's too fuckin' hung up on that Holmes kid. I swear, if he doesn't shag him soon, I'm gonna go out of my mind dealing with Mr. Moody."

"I heard he wasn't into him," he said thoughtfully, catching Mike's eye across the room.

"Yeah, well, you know how Caleb is. He's got a thing for taking the v-cards, you know. And he's obviously a virgin, and Caleb is dying to fuck him," Eric said. John realized he reeked of alcohol himself, so he was drinking. That was a bad sign. Eric was generally the sober one of the group.

John sipped his drink, a dark beer. "Well, not much he can do if the bloke won't even go out on a date with him."

"Fuck, he doesn't care about the date," Eric said, glancing over as Caleb came back and sat down with a no doubt stronger drink. Jeff had gotten up and left. "He just wants to fuck him. He's like some exotic, rare species that he has to conquer, you know. He's fucked gay boys, and he's fucked straight boys, so now, he wants this. The thing he can't have. But he'll have it, one way or antoher," Eric said, and John didn't miss the narrowing of his eyes.

"You don't approve."

Eric shook his head, stumbling to the right a bit. "Ah, yeah, not one for the fuckin' rape thing, but Caleb doesn't seem to care, as long as he gets what he wants. Wouldn't be the first time."

Eric suddenly looked shocked and looked at John and realized what he said. "Ah, fuck, John, don't tell him I said that. Shit, I'm drunker than I thought…" he said and stumbled toward the loo, looking a lot paler than he had been.

Mike put a hand on his shoulder and John looked at him. "You hear that?" he asked.

"I did. But what can we do?" he asked.

"Keep an eye on him, that's all we can do. He should be safe on campus, there's security, and you said he stays in the library and the chem labs. As long as he stays there, he should be fine. You might want to alert that brother of his, just in case, you know…" John said as he watched Caleb sulking on the sofa while Vincent made out with the girl who was now practically fucking him through his clothes beside him.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

"Um, Mycroft Holmes, please," Mike said into the mobile as he stood nervously outside class the next day. He was far away from Sherlock's classes, sure that he wouldn't be caught. "Um, Mike Stamford. It's about his brother, if that helps. Yes, ma'am, I'll hold."

He looked up to see John coming up to him he mouthed to him "Mycroft" and he nodded.

" _Mike Stamford? You are my brother's roommate,"_ came the cultured sound of the elder Holmes brother's voice.

"Yes, sir, I am. I just thought I should make you aware of the situation with a fellow who seems to be…ah…interested in your brother…and I'm a bit worried…" he said, glancing at John who nodded encouragingly. Of course, he'd never met Mycroft. He wouldn't understand the nerves that Mike had at that moment.

" _Yes, Sherlock mentioned a fellow that seemed insistant in forging a relationship despite his desire to the contrary. Something has come up?"_

"Well, its just that my mate John is on the football team and we overheard some things, and it seems that Caleb isn't too keen on the taking no for an answer…and may become a little more…aggressive in the near future."

_"Caleb. Caleb Macavoy?"_

Mike frowned and glanced at John. "Um, that's him. How'd you know about him? Sherlock said he didn't tell you who it was."

" _Easy enough to deduce, Mr. Stamford. I would thank you and Mr. Watson for your concern over my brother. I do appreciate it quite a bit."_

The phone clicked off and Mike looked at John. "He already knew you and Caleb. That man is creepy," he said with an arched brow.

They got back to the dormitory to find Sherlock gathering books. He nodded to them as he started to leave.

"Oi, where you off to?" Mike asked as he stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Library, like usual. Caleb came by here earlier, I blew him off but I'm tired of dealing with him today. Prat has shown up after every single one of my classes to badger me, and I'm done with him. I figure the library is the only place he can't bother me while I study," Sherlock said with a sigh. "He's bloody annoying. I have no idea what happened but he's particularly annoying today…"

John and Mike exchanged glances behind his back. "You want us to come with you? He's an annoying git, maybe…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, I'm fine. Besides, what can he do but keep asking the same thing again and again? I'll have him tossed out of the library if he bothers me there, I'm sure Mrs. Atheson would do that for me after I helped her figure out who was stealing from the back room a few weeks ago."

Mike nodded. "Okay, but take your phone. I don't trust that guy, I met him at the party last night, and he's a wanker, alright."

Sherlock didn't want to admit that he was indeed hiding from him. He'd really shown up after every single one of his classes today. And it was incredibly annoying and each time he had gotten increasingly more aggressive about coming to his dorm that night. He'd dropped all pretense that he was taking him on a date. It had already been apparent to Sherlock that he wanted a sexual liaison, but now he wasn't even covering that fact with flowery words. After his last class, he made it abundantly clear what he wanted.

He'd left class when he saw Caleb leaning against the wall. He sighed deeply and stared at him a moment before he shook his head.

"Caleb, how many times must I turn you down? I've already explained, this has nothing to do with you, your attractiveness, or sexuality. I simply have no interest in romantic partners, I'm unsure how many ways to put this…" Sherlock paused, because it was obvious something was different about Caleb.

A second later he was slammed into the wall hard enough to steal his breath. He gasped at the body pressing up against him, and his books fell to the floor as he blinked in shock. Caleb leaned into him, forcing his knee between the younger boy's thighs and rubbing an obvious erection against Sherlock's thigh as he nudged his knee into Sherlock's crotch. Of course, from Sherlock, there was no reaction. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in Caleb. He put both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to push him back, but Caleb was stronger, and had the advantage of nearly a hundred pounds and several inches, not to mention at least six years or more, on the smaller boy.

"Sherlock, no one tells me now. No one. Not you in your snotty little freakish way, no one. I will have you, I will fuck you until you are screaming my name, and you will fuckin' love it because a freak like you is never going to have anyone else willing to do it. Now, it would be much easier if you just gave in and showed up at my dorm tonight, and we'll take care of matters, and then, you'll be mine because when I'm done with you, no one will ever want you again, so I'm all that there is for you," he said, almost growling the words into his ear. "I will have the most exotic and beautiful prize of them all, Sherlock, and you will enjoy it…"

Sherlock heard the door open and suddenly he could breathe again. He blinked and thought he heard someone, but his heart was beating rapidly and blood was rushing in his ears so loud he really couldn't hear. He blinked and looked up to see Professor Brathas standing there with a worried expression. Sherlock shook his head and swallowed thickly, kneeling and picking up his books.

"Fine, fine," he said quickly, starting to leave, but Brathas put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around.

"What was that about?" he asked, frowning deeply.

Sherlock flushed a bit, stomach twisting. "Um, Caleb seems to want a relationship that I'm uninterested in…he was making his point clear as to his interest…I told him I wasn't interested, but he has a hard time with no, it seems. I've…I've got to go. See you Monday, professor," he said and headed off, nearly running into the wall as he stumbled.

Of course, Dr. Brathas was one of the older professors in the school, and had immediately gone to the Dean with his worries about what he'd witnessed. He'd taught both Holmes boys, and while the younger was less adept at navigating social situations, neither was agitated easily.

"Enter," Dr. James Kirkwood said with a sigh, looking up as his philosophy professor, Dr. Terrance Brathas, came in.

"James, can I have a minute?" he asked slowly.

James nodded and motioned to sit down as he stood to get his electric kettle. "Tea?"

"Yes, please, thank you."

"What brings you in, Terry?" James asked a moment later, sitting a steaming cup of Earl Gray with two sugars and cream in front of one of his oldest friends.

"I just witnessed a distressing altercation between one of my first year students and an upperclassman. I thought it best to inform you," he said slowly.

James sipped his tea. "You know how boys are, Terry, if we worried over every incident in the hallways…"

Terry shook his head. "Not that kind of altercation. You know Caleb Macavoy and his reputation, he was the elder student involved."

James sat down his cup. "Yes, he has a reputation as an excellent footballer, but has a penchant for short romantic flings with underclassmen. Generally, most problems with him comes from his dumping of said flings."

"Yes, well, his choice in pursuit is Sherlock Holmes, who is definitely not receptive to his advances. After class I heard Mr. Holmes outside the classroom point blankly telling him that he was not interested in going anywhere with him for any reason. I heard a rather loud thump so I took a look and found Mr. Macavoy had slammed the Holmes boy into wall and was practically frotting against him in the hallway. He was talking to him and I swear the Holmes boy looked like a rabbit caught in a trap, whatever he said to him. He moved back as soon as I pushed the door open, as I'd been watching through the crevice, and left. I asked Sherlock if he was okay, and he was visibly shaken. It took him a good five minutes to collect himself before he told me he was fine and that Caleb was insistent on a relationship he wasn't interested in. I've never see the Holmes boy like that, James. He looked frightened. And he generally has little to no emotion on his face, so I have to wonder how long this has been going on," Terry said, taking a long drink of his rapidly cooling tea. "I've taught both boys. And I've never seen either of them react to someone like that."

"Didn't he just turn sixteen?" James asked, reaching behind him for a file he often referenced. One has to keep information on boys like Sherlock Holmes quickly at hand.

"He did, January sixth, if I remember correctly," Terry said. It was easy to remember the birthday of the youngest student you'd ever taught at the university level.

James nodded. "I'll inform the others, as well as his resident at the dorms. We should keep an eye on the situation to ensure it doesn't get out of hand. The last thing we need is some sort of scandal because of one young man's inability to keep his cock in check."

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Sherlock yawned. He'd finished all his weekend work, and now the rest of it could be occupied with his own pursuits, perhaps a few experiments in the chem lab and work on his violin. He'd been working on a couple complicated concertos for Mycroft. He did like the complex ones. Thankfully, Caleb hadn't shown up. He was greatful. Another confrontation with him in the same day was really too much for him. Especially after the incident in the hallway. He really hadn't been that shaken by something before. He shook his head and walked out. The library was closing so it wasn't like he had much choice. However, sitting on the bench outside the doorway was Caleb. Sherlock groaned, turning to walk away.

Caleb was fast though and c aught him by the arm. "Now, don't run off! I just want to talk!" he said smiling.

Sherlock turned around and shook his head, holding his books to his chest. "Caleb, please, this is just not going to happen, I don't know why you keep at this!" he pulled away and started walking away, only to be yanked around again.

"Why? Why don't you want me like everyone else? No one turns me down, no one, Sherlock. I've never had this much trouble getting someone into my bed. What is it about me that you don't like?" he said, narrowing his eyes and Sherlock felt the anger rolling off him, and a pang of fear shot through his stomach.

He cleared his throat. "Caleb, it isn't you! I just don't find anyone interesting in that way! I'm sorry, but that's the way it is! It won't change, no matter how much you pursue me, beg me, I'm not going to agree to even date you, let alone sleep with you!"

"So that's it? You're telling me no chance you'll change your mind?" Caleb said, nodding and stepping back.

Sherlock was briefly relieved. He finally got it. "No, I won't change my mind."

"Sorry, then, but I get what I want, no matter how I have to do it," he said and smiled a wicked smile. Sherlock frowned deeply and then he heard a rustle behind him. He turned, but too late there was a shock of pain in his head and the world faded to gray then black.


	2. On the Blade's Edge

Mike walked into the dorm and sighed. He glanced around, but Sherlock wasn't in yet. He frowned but assumed he must be at the library still. He gathered up his keys and headed out to pick up John. They'd made plans to hit a local pub tonight, but they didn't want to stay out too late. He scribbled a quick note to Sherlock in case he came back and wondered where he'd gone off to that night. He glanced at the clock. Nine on the dot, the library would be closing now. He thought briefly about going by to make sure he got to the dorms okay but shook his head. It was silly, really. The way between the library and the dorms was well lit. There was no way Caleb would pull something where he could be caught…

But Mike couldn't quell the uneasiness in his gut as he started his car and headed to John's flat. They chatted and both of them tried to keep their mind off their worries over Mike's younger roommate.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

The pounding in his head and the dryness in his mouth indicated that he'd been quite unconscious for a while. He groaned and tried to move but found his hands were stuck. No, wait, not stuck, tied. What? He blinked and opened his eyes to see he was in a hotel room…not a very nice one. More like the local hourly where the prostitutes hung out…

"Oh, he's up, Vince," came Caleb's voice. "I was afraid you'd killed him…"

He looked up to see Caleb and Vince. Vince was holding a small camcorder, flicking it around between Caleb and Sherlock.

"What…Caleb?" he said, blinking and still confused. The blazing pain in his head was enough to make him sick to his stomach. No doubt a concussion…

"Sweet Sherlock," he purred as he dropped to the bed. "I told you, I don't take no."

"Caleb, please, stop this…" Sherlock said, fear coiling into his belly suddenly as the world began to sharpen around him. "You…you don't want to do this…Caleb…"

"See, I do, Sherl. Vince here is gonna record our little tryst. And if you breathe a word of what happens here, I'm going to give this video to people who will release it to the press and to some friends of mine in the porn industry, and you'll go far, baby," he said with a grin, crawling over him and sitting on his thighs.

Sherlock blinked owlishly at him, his stomach dropping and going cold. "Why?"

Caleb smiled, reaching out and ripping his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere as he ran hands down the pale and hairless chest underneath. "Good lord on high, you are a smooth as a little boy, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes were wide. "Please, Caleb. Don't. I don't…I don't want this…I told you…I'm not interested in sex at all, not with anyone, it isn't you, I just don't…"

Caleb leaned back and backhanded him. Vince moved around to get a better angle on the action, snickering. "Shut the fuck up, Sherlock. I will break your goddamned jaw, and then every one of your bloody fingers. Then see how pretty you play the violin or rattle off your haughty _deductions_."

Sherlock stared at him unsure of what to do. Caleb leaned down and bit down on his neck, causing him to hiss in pain. "Now, I'm going to fuck you, Sherlock. And I'm going to kiss you, and if you try anything, anything at all, like trying to kick me, or trying to bite me, I will fucking leave you so broken that you won't be able to walk, let alone stand. Do you understand? Don't say anything. Just nod."

Sherlock swallowed thickly, eyes wide and nodded slowly. He felt his heart in his throat and then he was almost hyperventilating as Caleb quickly undid his trousers and yanked them off, pausing for a moment to stare at him before he yanked his pants off him. Sherlock's face colored and he buried his head into his arm as best as he could.

"Aw, the little freak's shy, isn't he?" cooed Vincent from behind the camera. "Think this is gonna be yer best v yet, he's so much prettier than the rest of the boys."

Caleb grinned and pulled Sherlock's face around and drove into his mouth with a press of teeth, tongue and Sherlock was sure he was going to vomit. The slick, slimy feel of another person's tongue was something he hadn't been keen on experiencing. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shut out all the sensory input, but it was impossible. Caleb moved and he opened his eyes again to see him removing his trousers and pants slowly, watching him.

-ooooooooooooooooo Noncon scene oooooooooooooooooo-

"Normally, I like to make my boys come before I do," he said thoughtfully. "But considering how thoroughly uninterested you are, I guess I'll just cut to the chase and fuck your little arse, huh?"

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. He had agreed to be good, to not fight, but when he started to pull his legs apart, he couldn't help but struggle. "P-please…d-don't…" he whimpered, all semblance of pride gone. His begging was met with another, harder backhand that left his lip bleeding.

He looked up with wide eyes and fear washed over him. He was really going to hurt him. He'd been so sure that Caleb was harmless, a nuisance, nothing else, and had no idea that he was going to take things this far. He winced as Caleb forced both his legs up. He blushed harder and turned away as Caleb stared at him, then began to run his hands over his thighs and down to the hidden entrance below. He whimpered again as he forced a dry finger into him. It burned, and stung, even just that, he couldn't imagine what something more would feel like.

"Ah, fuck, I think this is going to be fun," he said. "Vince, should I be nice or should I just go in dry?"

"Ah, you know you'll hurt if you go in dry. Fuck his mouth a bit, then go in like that," Vince said, moving around to watch him do just that.

Caleb nodded and moved up to straddle his chest. The ropes had already rubbed his flesh raw and blood was dripping down his forearms. Caleb nudged at his lips with the leaking tip of his cock and glared down. "Open, and if you even think about biting down on me, I will shove my entire fist in your arse. Understand?"

Sherlock swallowed and gave a small nod and had no other notice before Caleb forced himself down into Sherlock's mouth. "It's in your best interest, Sherlock dear, if you get me nice and wet. This is the only lube you're going to get…" he said with a grin as he thrust down into his throat sending Sherlock into a gagging fit that nearly made him throw up then and there. After a few minutes he pulled away and roughly flipped him onto his stomach, pulling his hips up and he felt he was being stared at again, so he buried his face in his arms and felt the tears prickling his eyes. The humiliation of it was so much he thought death would be better right now.

He tried to prepare for the pain, but it wasn't enough as Caleb, true to his word, gave no other preamble, and slammed into him in one quick thrust. Sherlock prided himself on being able to handle pain, but he screamed. It wasn't a yelp of surprise; it was a pained scream as the pain shot up his spine and down his legs. He was sobbing then, and begging him to please stop, telling him it hurt too much, that something had torn… The burning and stinging ebbed a bit and to Sherlock's horror he realized it was because he was bleeding and that was acting as a lubricant now. The thought made him sick, again. He heard Vincent telling him to move a certain way, and then another. Then he had his head jerked up by his hair as Vincent came in front of him and giggled at his face while Caleb forced him to look into the camera.

"Look at this little slut," Caleb said. "Isn't he a pretty little whore, even with tears on his face? I think the tears make him even prettier. Here, scream for me again, little slut."

He pulled out and slammed back in harder and Sherlock complied with the request, yelping and sobbing hard as the pain thrashed through him. The camera moved away and his head fell back down onto the bed and he had no more words until Caleb began to move faster until he stilled and the stinging burn of his release made him wince and let out a pained whimper. Caleb lay over his back panting hard. He moved back, and Sherlock hoped it was over.

"You gonna take a turn, Vince?" Caleb asked, and Sherlock's heart nearly stopped.

"Why not, his arse is just as pretty as a little pussy," Vince said and Sherlock yanked hard on the ropes again, but was flipped onto his back and staring up at the other boy. "Keep the camera on him. I know, when you're up again, you can fuck him again before we dump him out. He's such a good little slut."

Sherlock shook his head and screamed again, this time for help, anyone to please come to help him, but Caleb took a moment and shoved a cloth in his mouth and tied a gag onto him, effectively quieting his pleas, seeing that he was hysterical at this point and unable to listen to their threats any longer. Sherlock had trouble breathing through it though, and managed to pass out a couple times before they were done. He had no idea how many times it was that he blacked out, or how many times they'd used him. He had no idea what happened beyond that moment.

-oooooooooooooooooo End Noncon Scene oooooooooooooooooo-

The next clear memory he had was falling to his hands and knees on the grass outside his dorm to the sound of laughter behind him. He was still wearing his shirt, ripped open as it was, and they'd put his trousers on him, but they were undone. They moved away and the world swam around him, and he fell face first into the dirt. A moment later he lifted himself enough to retch violently into the grass he was laying in. He supposed to anyone else, he might look drunk. In fact, he sort of felt drunk, like the world around him wasn't real. He felt like he was detached from everything. He stumbled to his feet and managed the stairs and into the dorm. His brain was misfiring and he couldn't catch reality.

He felt so dirty, so very dirty, and he wanted to get it off his skin, but he knew it would never leave. He stumbled into the bath and stared at the mirror. The person that looked back was nearly unrecognizable. His right eye was black and the cheek purpling underneath it. The side of his jaw on the left was similarly bruising. There were huge, purple hickies and bites all over his neck and shoulders. A few had drawn blood and were still oozing. He looked down and knew there were bruises on his hips and his wrists were a bloody mess, still oozing and burned from the ropes. The blood was sticky on his arms, and he felt it dripping down the back of his legs even still. And they had a video. They'd taken a video. The thought stuck in his brain and refused to dislodge itself. They said if he told they'd send it to someone…

It took only a moment to decide. It was just too much. The pain, the humiliation, the shame of having someone do something like this to him. His life was precarious as it was; the strange freakish kid who had too much brain and not enough social skills was what he was. No one really liked him, and people like Mike and John tolerated him. What would they think about this? They wouldn't like him at all, or even tolerate him anymore. And Mycroft would tell him that he was at fault and should have been more careful. And he should have known! He could look at a person and tell who they were sleeping with but he couldn't tell if one obsessed student was going to rape him because he said no. How could he have not realized this? He could never look at Mycroft again. His knees gave out and he landed on the floor, staring at the doors under the sink. He didn't even have to leave the bathroom, he realized.

Mike kept a box of razors under the sink. He didn't like disposables, and he had an old fashioned style razor that took the regular blades. It didn't take long to retrieve it and take one out. He looked at the silver and sighed. Yes, this was too much. He couldn't deal with it. He only wanted to let go, to be free of it, and go to sleep never to wake up. That sounded so easy right now…

The blade was sharp and sliced easily into the skin, sliding across his right arm, severing the veins and arteries and sending blood dripping to the floor. He knew it wasn't a mortal wound, but he wanted to at least feel something for a brief moment as he applied another cut, and another, and another. Before long, eight cuts were dripping blood from his right forearm. And he felt alive for a change. He switched hands, and carefully cut into his left wrist and sliced upward toward the elbow, opening the vein easily. He didn't even feel it anymore… He smiled as the blade clattered to the floor, the dizziness over taking him as he fell back into the wall and slumped slowly down to sit in the spreading pool of crimson.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Mike and John were only gone a few hours, and they came in nicely buzzed as Mike stumbled a bit. It was just past midnight when they got back from the pub. Mike hit the lights automatically before he gasped.

"Oh shit, sorry Sherlock, hope that didn't wake the bloke…" he said with a near giggle before he realized that Sherlock wasn't in his bed. "Sherlock?"

John frowned then and looked around. "He should be home by now, the library closed at nine…"

His eyes went to the closed bathroom door, and drifted down to a thin trickle of red coming from underneath it. "Oh fuck," John said with a gasp, grabbing the door and yanking. It was locked from the inside. "Oh fuck, Sherlock!" he yelled franticly. There was no answer but a thump from the other side could be heard and a clatter.

"Mike, open it, quickly," he said, looking at Mike who was standing very still and staring at the red steadily leaking from under the door.

Mike nodded and slammed into the door hard, and it gave with a crack. John gasped at the sight he found. Sherlock had slid down the wall, both arms cut up badly. A bloodied razor lay nearby his right hand where it had fallen. And there was a lot of blood, way too much blood.

"Call 999, now," John said, grabbing a towel from the cabinet and wrapping the arm with the long cut down it that was bleeding faster. Sherlock's already pale skin had gone even paler, and judging by the blood pool, it wasn't much to guess that he would be dead before long if they hadn't found him.

"On their way, what…why…." Mike stammered.

John shook his head, "Go put pressure on the other side. Hurry, I'm going to use my belt to tie off around his arm," he said, yanking his belt and tightening it around his bicep.

"He's never been suicidal," Mike said solemnly. "I mean, he puts up with tons of shit from other students, but nothing he's never been able to brush off. Something happened. He's been beat up, look at his face," he said.

John nodded and looked over the rest of him, slowly realizing what must have happened. "Oh fuck me, Mike…" he said and looked up at his friend across the body he was hoping he was keeping alive. "His clothes, Mike. Look at his clothes. And his neck."

Mike frowned, and was confused, but his face cleared and he bit on his lip. His shirt had been obviously ripped open, and his trousers were ruined, the button gone and his pants were gone as well. He was barefoot, and Mike hadn't seen his shoes anywhere when they came in, and Sherlock was meticulous about putting them by the entry. Then he saw the marks on his neck and shoulders. Mike grimaced and looked away.

"God fucking dammit. I should have stayed with him. It was Caleb, I knew it would happen, I fuckin' knew, Mike. Fuck!" John said with a heavy breath. "I knew he would do something, but I didn't think…I didn't think he'd take it this far…he's gotten someone drunk before and took advantage of them, but this…this is different."

A loud knock sounded and Mike yelled for them to hurry. In a rush, Sherlock was whisked away, and the ambulance was screaming out of the dorm parking lot with him. Mike and John stood in the entry and watched it go, both still dripping blood from both hands and knees where they'd kneeled in the spreading pool to try and help Sherlock, to keep him alive a minute longer. A moment later, a black car pulled up beside them, and a man Mike recognized told them to come with him. Neither boy asked questions, they just went, still in a state of shock.

The man sitting across from them looked very aristocratic and about mid-twenties. He had an umbrella leaning against his legs and was looking out the window with an expressionless face. Mike was dutifully not looking at the man across from them. They pulled into a hospital neither boy had ever seen, obviously a private facility, and got out and followed the well-dressed man into the building. John and Mike were still silent as they were led through a metal detector and handed a change of clothes, a set of scrubs by the feel, and shown to a bathroom. They changed and emerged in the green scrubs and found that the man was still there, and then they were led into a waiting area.

The man turned and spoke finally. "Mike, good to see you again," he said with a sigh. "However, under these circumstances…"

"Yes, sir, um this is my best mate, John Watson, John this is Sherlock's brother Mycroft Holmes," Mike said, looking between them.

John nodded. "Have they said how he is yet?"

Mycroft frowned and almost smiled a bit. "You are considerably concerned for my brother's welfare."

John frowned. "Well of course, I tried to save him, after all. And when I get my hands on fucking Caleb I'm going to kick his arse until he wishes he were dead…" he said, trailing off with a dark look crossing his face.

"Is there a reason you feel so inclined to harm the one that hurt him?" Mycroft asked, nearly an uninterested look on his face. But John could see that below the mask, the older man was seething. It was difficult to see, but it was there.

John examined him for a long moment. "He's a good bloke. He deserves better than he gets, and I think he's pretty amazing as far as people go. And no one deserves what Caleb pulled."

The moment was broken when a man in a white doctor's coat entered. He glanced at the two young men first. "First, I have to thank you two, I understand that you kept the bleeding under control until the medics could arrive."

John nodded. "I'm pre-med, about to go on. I knew what to do when we found him."

"Good that you did, because it was touch and go as it was. He's stabilized now, but we had a hard time keeping him from going into shock. He's being transfused now, to replace the lost blood. We've also already collected a rape kit. Shall I send it on to…"

Mycroft winced, barely, but it was there. "No. Keep it in house. I've yet to decide how the perpetrators will be handled."

"You realize unless he acknowledges the assault, there can be no charges," the doctor said, sighing. "In cases like this, they rarely go anywhere."

John frowned. "Cases like this?"

The doctor nodded. "It isn't unusual to see a suicide attempt after a sexual assault. And if we are able to save the victim, they often refuse to speak of the assault or put charges against those that assaulted them. We were lucky in this case, in that the attempt came directly after the assault. My estimation, it occurred less than an hour ago."

John wavered on his feet and found the seat behind him. "I'm gonna kill the bastard."

The doctor sighed. "And there were multiple assaults. I'm not completely sure, but the injuries coincide with more than one assault. Perhaps more than one individual. We'll know more when the DNA samples are returned. Should I at least send for the DNA samples to be completed?"

Mycroft nodded. "Please do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going. I'd appreciate it if one of you would remain with my brother."

John frowned. "Wait, why aren't you staying with him?"

"Because, John, he would not want me to stay with him. I doubt he will even call me once he has awakened. But please, do watch out for him. He is…fragile in some ways. And this may be one of the things that breaks him," he said with a sad smile and left the room.

"They don't get along well," Mike said, looking up to John. "It was quite a row when he brought him to school. Sherlock couldn't get him from the door fast enough."

Some hour later, the two boys were allowed into the room with Sherlock, and they decided to wait for him to wake up. They were nice enough to give them two large, comfortable chairs, into which the still slightly inebriated friends soon passed out.

John woke early the next morning with a headache and a mouth full of sand. Now he remembered why he rarely went out drinking. He blinked against the light streaming in the windows and looked over to see that Sherlock was awake and staring at the ceiling. John sat up and slapped Mike's arm quickly.

"Sherlock!" he said with a sigh and stood up to move over to him.

Sherlock fixed him with a glare that would have melted metal. "Why are you here?"

John tried not to take his words to heart. After all, he'd been through a lot. "Mike and I, we found you when we got in last night, and we came here…."

"So you're at fault," he said, rolling his eyes. "No doubt your skills as a doctor in training aided you."

"Well, yeah," John began.

"You shouldn't have bothered."

John blinked. "Sherlock, look I know what happened last night, and I…"  
"Nothing happened. Forget it. Forget me," he said, brows scrunching together.

Mike exchanged a look with John. John turned back. "Sherlock, you need to charge the bastards for what they did…"

"Nothing happened. Leave me alone. I want you to leave. Both of you," he said, staring at the bandages on his arms.

"Sherlock, just be reasonable," John began, frowning.

"I said leave!" he yelled now, his face a furious mask that John couldn't read. Except the incredible pain in those pale eyes. Pain he didn't want to accept or acknowledge. "I don't want you here, I don't want to see you again! Both of you just fucking leave me alone!"

John backed away and grabbed Mike by the arm. Sherlock was getting so agitated that the heart monitor was skyrocketing and beeping. "Fine, we're going," John said, pulling Mike out of the room. They paused and looked back to see he'd rolled to his side and pulled the sheets to his nose. John wanted to say something, anything, but he knew in the state he was in currently, words would be of no use.

That was the last time that John and Mike saw Sherlock for quite some time. Two days later, after he knew Sherlock had been released from the hospital, he came back to the dorm to find it empty of all of Sherlock's things, and no one knew what had happened. He'd tested out of most his classes early, something about medical leave, but both John and Mike knew that was crap.

The first football practice that John went to that Caleb was at was something that no one would forget anytime soon. John was generally a patient young man. He was only in his early twenties, and he was quite good at football. But this day, a week after Sherlock had disappeared, John didn't care anymore about playing for the football team. No, he'd hit his breaking point, the breaking point of his heart and his soul. So he decided it was time. He didn't dress out, but left Mike in the stands, telling him he wouldn't be long, and headed down to the field where Caleb and his two cronies were standing at the head barking orders to the team.

As soon as he came into view Caleb scowled and yelled at him. "Fuck, Watson, where the hell have you been? You don't practice anymore? Too good for us, fancy doctor now?"

That had been the very wrong thing to say because John smiled at him. But there was something lit in his bright blue eyes that made everyone around him move back a little bit.

"Too good for this team? No, this team is fantastic. Too good for your bloody rapist arse? Yes, I'm too good for you."

Everyone on the team took a collective gasp as Caleb's face turned scarlet. "What the fuck are you talking about, Watson?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You know who I'm fucking talking about, you piece of shit."

John stepped forward until he was just out of swinging distance of the taller boy. "I had to hold his fucking wrists together to keep him from goddamned well bleeding out in the middle of the fucking bathroom after he slit them open so he could die after what you fucking did. You couldn't keep your fuckin' cock in your pants, could you? He was fucking unattainable so you had to fucking tie him up and rape him. And if he'd died, I'd call you a murderer instead of a rapist. And I doubt calling you on it in front of your precious team would be all I'd be doing, because I'd probably be locked up for killing your sorry arse."

Vince and Eric had stepped back away from Caleb who had clenched his fists tight against his sides. From the sidelines, the coach had walked near enough that he could hear what was being said, but not near enough to interfere.

"You dare _accuse_ me of something like this, Watson, I'll have you in jail for slander!" he said tightly.

"So you deny it? And you'll go give a DNA sample? Because you know, they do rape kits when they see someone who has been raped, you know, even if they're almost dead when they take them in. Two DNA samples. They don't have a match of course, unless he names his assaulter. But there were two of them. You and…" John looked between Eric and Vince. He smiled and stared at Vince. "Vince. And here I thought you were straight. But you'll fuck someone who can't fight back, won't you?"

"No one is fucking giving any goddamned DNA samples, I don't know what you're on, but you obviously aren't sharing it with anyone here," Caleb said, his hands still flexing, a roaring red flush over his face.

"If you didn't do anything, what does it matter?" asked someone on the team. Caleb turned and stared at him.

"You guys believe this shit?" he asked, looking around. "I've been captain for two years, and…"

"And there's an awful high turnover in the first years on the team," supplied one of the third year boys in the back.

John grinned again, spotting the coach hanging back. Waiting. He was behind Caleb. Time to go in for the kill. "What'd you do to make sure he didn't talk?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, we're talking about someone who could give a shit less what people think, yet he won't even come to school now let alone turn your sorry ass in. So you did something. Something that made him not want to go to the cops. What was it? Did you threaten him or his family? No, that wouldn't work…not at all…" he muttered, looking around as if thinking.

"Wait, no, you wouldn't do something so stupid as that…" John said and then looked at the way Vince's hands twitched around the ball. "Or did you? You did, you fuckers recorded it, didn't you? And then told him that if he told you'd give it to someone?"

The sudden pallor that came over Vince's face, and the deeper scarlet that tinged Caleb's was the only confirmation John needed. "I bet you pull it out and watch it and get off on it again, because you get off on the power trip, don't you Caleb? You like being in control. You film the other boys you messed with? Like Charlie who you got so drunk he didn't even remember what happened the next day? Or Samson who you convinced to try LSD at a party and then took him back and messed him up so bad he needed stitches? I wonder, did they say no too?"

Caleb exploded. "No one tells me no!" he screamed and flew at John. "No one tells me no! I fuckin' take what I want, no one has the audacity to tell me no, especially not some uppity, better than everyone else freak like goddamned Sherlock Holmes!" he screamed as he punched John in the ribs and the face. John didn't fight back at first, just let him scream his pronouncement, practically confessing in front of the entire team. Finally John grabbed his hands and held him back. "Too bad your freak didn't die! Why are you here, Watson? You pissed I got to fuck your piece of ass before you did?" he hissed into John's face.

John's face contorted, and before he thought, his fist flew out and caught Caleb on the jaw, sending him stumbling backward, and then he was on him again. Someone from the team pulled him back, and he quit, seeing the blood on his knuckles. It looked like he'd broken Caleb's nose, and got in at least one black eye.

"Call him a freak one more time, Macavoy," John screamed. "Call him that one more time, and I swear to fucking God I will make you regret the day you were born! He's not the freak, you are the goddamned freak! Normal people don't rape someone because they don't want to have sex with them! Normal people take no for an answer and find someone willing! But not you, you have to have power over someone else, and ruin them!"

Caleb lunged forward again, but was grabbed by Coach Steels. "Enough, both of you. John, go to my office, please, everyone else but you three," he said, pointing to Caleb, Eric and Vince. "Afternoon off, get out of here."

John stepped out of the arms of one of his teammates and nodded thanks and headed at a trot back to the offices, and dabbed his bleeding lip with a tissue while he waited. He was sure he'd get kicked off the team for this. He'd nearly dozed off when the door opened, and the stocky Coach Steels came in. Steels was a shorter man, about five food eight, but he was broad and an excellent footballer in his heyday, but a knee injury put him down to coaching. He didn't mind though, he loved working with the teams.

He sat down and stared at John for a long moment. "So, John Watson…I don't know what to do with you right now."

John shrugged. "I'm fine with leaving the team, Coach. I've got practicals and internships coming up soon. I won't be able to play much as it is. Consider today my notice that I'm leaving. I did what I needed to do. And I did it in front of everyone so I didn't kill him."

Steels blinked at him. He hadn't expected this. He'd expected what Caleb had given him. Begging the coach to forget it, that it was nothing, and he wasn't going to let it affect the team. "I see. So you have proof of your accusations out there? That's pretty heavy, there, John, accusing another student of rape."

John nodded. "Wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. He was after my mate's roommate. Kept harassing him for months, and then came back one night to find him nearly dead in the bathroom, both arms laid open with intent to kill himself. It wasn't a cry for attention or cutting gone bad. He knew what he was doing and laid open even of his arm to bleed out in around fifteen minutes. I managed to control the bleeding until the emergency got there. They collected a rape kit with two samples. I'm completely sure one of those would match Caleb, and about ninety percent sure the other would match Vince. And they pretty much confirmed they videoed it. So I bet somewhere in one of their dorms, they've got a tape or have it saved to a disk or something."

"Has the boy said anything?" Steels said with a sigh.

"He wouldn't talk, but I suppose the threat of having people see a video of what happened might cause anyone to keep quiet. Unless he tells someone who it was, and confirms it was non-consensual, there isn't much they can do. And I don't doubt it was nonconsensual before you ask. His wrists had been tied and were covered with bleeding wounds and rope burn," John said with a nod. "And he's gone, no one knows where he's disappeared to, he tested out of his classes, and disappeared. I'm worried he might hurt himself again. But I don't know what else to do."

Coach Steels sighed. "I'll see what I can find out, John. But you're excused with no disciplinary action from the team. I'll tell the others that you left because of med school. Enjoy your round of practicals and internships."

John nodded and left, proud of himself. He'd stood up for Sherlock. And he dared anyone to say anything about him again. But he had another month, and then he'd start rounds at a nearby hospital. Summer would be busy indeed for the up and coming doctor.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

John was on the Emergency when the call came in for an overdose. He was to take lead on the patient because he'd already assisted on several in the last two months. His superior would be there, of course, check over everything he called, but this was a teaching hospital. And this is what they did. He steeled himself as he prepped the room, and nurses buzzed around. He looked at his supervisor and gave a nod to him.

"You ready for this John?" Dr. Brace asked in his usual low timbre. The man should have been a bass singer.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said with a nod. "Are we looking at an accidental overdose on drugs or a suicide attempt by overdose?"

Brace shook his head. "Track marks, so looks like most likely an accidental OD, but you know how it goes with the junkies. And remember, don't beat yourself up if you can't same them. You won't be able to save everyone."

John nodded and looked up as they wheeled the patient in. He turned and too a breath before turning around to get the information from the medics. He blinked and stopped for a moment.

"John!" came Brace's voice. "Get with it, we're going to lose him if you don't hurry!"

He looked up and nodded, working as fast as he could. He'd already been intubated in the bus, and had seized in route. He went through it all mechanically and didn't speak unless it was to yell orders. Brace stood back and watched, impressed by his student's efficiency, and noting he made no mistakes. By the time the patient was stabilized and wheeled out, John sunk down in the chair.

"First one is rough, I know, but great work," Brace said.

John shook his head. "No, it wasn't the procedure. I know him, I saved his life about two months ago on campus. That's where he got the scars on his wrists. I kept him from dying. Put him on suicide watch immediately."

"Now we don't know for sure if…" John looked at him.

"Two months ago he had a perfect grade point average at Cambridge. He'd never had a drink, never had a cigarette, and is probably the biggest bloody genius I've ever met. He was raped and tried to kill himself, disappeared afterward. I have no doubt he overdosed on purpose, sir."

Brace saw the seriousness in his student's face and nodded. "Okay, okay. Won't hurt to do so. What's his name? Does he have family?"

John nodded. "Sherlock Holmes is his name, his brother is Mycroft Holmes, and I've got his number in my mobile. I'll let you talk to him."


	3. Seeking Solace

Mycroft tried his best. He really did. From a young age, he'd been fascinated by his younger brother. Seven years were between them, and Mycroft was constantly worried over the smaller boy. He just didn't see as steady as he was. He asked his parents and they assured him that there was nothing at all wrong with little Sherlock. They told him he was far advanced beyond other children, just as Mycroft had been at the same age. But there was something different about his little brother. He was small at first, incredibly small, thin and fragile looking. Mycroft thought when he started walking he'd break a bone when he fell. As they grew older, Mycroft found that little Sherlock followed him often like a puppy. It amused him, and he allowed it.

That changed when Mycroft left for boarding school. For some reason, when he returned on holiday, Sherlock wouldn't talk to him. He avoided him, and Mycroft caught him more than once crying. He'd ask what was wrong, and Sherlock would tell him to go away, he didn't want him around. He spoke to his mom, who told him that Sherlock was very sad when he left, and moped about for a long while. It seemed that Sherlock was angry at him for leaving. Mycroft tried and failed to talk to him about it, but instead, all he did was anger him further. Soon, any interest he had in Sherlock became interference. So he left his brother to his own devices more often than not. Perhaps he should have took more care.

So when the phone rang in his office he gave sigh of deep pain because it was the local teaching hospital. Sherlock had been missing for almost two months. The authorities had been involved, since he was sixteen, but they'd had no luck trying to find him. Mycroft had even called in favors among the less than legal sort, but still nothing about the lanky teen had been found. He had every hospital on alert to contact him should a teenager matching his description come in to their hospital or morgue. He desperately hoped it was the former as he picked up the phone.

"Mycroft Holmes," he said with no trace of the fear that was squeezing at his throat.

"Mr. Holmes, my name is Dr. Brace at the teaching hospital, and we've taken in a patient that my student that worked on him in A&E informs me is named Sherlock Holmes and is your brother," he said with a sigh. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you…"

"No, Dr. Brace, no, I've already put the area hospitals, morgues, and police on alert to look for him. He's been missing for two months since he was released after his past suicide attempt," he said professionally, standing and putting on his jacket and grabbing his umbrella.

There was a pause. "Ah, yes, Mr. Watson told me about that. Of course, we haven't the records yet, so I couldn't…"  
"Yes, yes, Dr. Brace, what is his condition?" he said, sighing in frustration.

"He's still unconscious, he came in with an overdose of heroin and cocaine, but we're not sure…"

"I'll be there in fifteen. Good day, doctor," he said, and hung the phone up.

He supposed if he couldn't destroy himself with blades, drugs would be the next option. He should have seen this coming, though. Really, it wasn't that far-fetched for a person to try and forget what had happened to them. Interesting, though, that this Watson was involved again. He'd been the one to save his brother's life the first time, and now again? He vaguely hoped that there would be something there, something that he could use. Sherlock was on a downward spiral, and if something didn't pull him out of it, there would be no saving him. He'd rarely had care about what happened to his body, often burning and cutting himself during his incessant experimentation. And now…

Mycroft allowed himself a moment as he stood before his door, hand resting on the knob. He swallowed the ball in his throat and sighed deeply, collecting himself. It wouldn't do to show his emotions to his people. He'd only been given this job recently. He couldn't make it appear he had any sort of feeling toward his baby brother. He blinked back the sting of tears in his eyes. How long since he'd felt that? He was always going to be that little boy, chasing him desperately, calling for him to come play deductions even though he wasn't very good at it yet since he was barely four, all pale faced and curly black hair. Mycroft shook the image away and strode from his office and called for a car.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

John sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair after his shift was over and watched over Sherlock. How could he leave him now? No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He stirred slightly and John moved closer to his head. He blinked wearily and glanced over to see John. His dark brows knitted together.

"You again?" he muttered.

"Yeah, seems like I'm your personal savior or something," John answered with a quirk of his blond brow. "Carted your arse in here nearly dead right into my room, imagine that?"

Sherlock sighed. "I think you're the only one that would bother trying to save me."

John shook his head. "Sherlock, was it an accident or did you try to kill yourself again?"

There was a long silence. "I'm not sure. I've been using for two months, maybe I just put too much heroin in the syringe this time…"

"On purpose." John had little doubt. The street name of "speed ball" or "power ball" was often used to describe dosing with both cocaine and heroin at the same time. The problem was the cocaine wore off first. A little too much heroin, and when the stimulant wore off, the person would slip into respiratory arrest. That was exactly what had happened to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't respond. "You know I beat the shit out of Caleb."

He turned and stared at John. John continued. "Outed for the piece of shit he was in front of the whole damn team, actually. He went at me first, but I broke his nose and blacked his eye in the deal. Ended up quitting the team. But I was happy. Felt good to finally bust my knuckles on his face. Damn near broke my damn hand."

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. "Why?"

"Because he's a fucking wanker and deserved no better. He deserves to be in jail. They've got all the evidence they need, you know, from when you went in afterward. All you have to do is tell them," John said with a nod. "And I think you should. Because the bastard's already had another kid on the team, who suddenly quit and changed schools after they went out on a 'date'. He's not going to stop, Sherlock. You can stop him."

"What are you, Scotland Yard, now?" Sherlock said weakly, attempting a snarl and failing miserably.

"No, but I want to see him pay, dammit, what he did you you…no. He shouldn't get away with it," John said with a deeper sigh, leaning back. "I know they videoed it." Sherlock turned and fixed him with a glare. "I figured it out when I started thinking about why you wouldn't report it. Something they'd done or said scared you out of it. Normally, you don't give a fuck what people think, so why would charging them matter? Unless they thought they could do something to you afterward. And I thought that might be it. When I mentioned it to Caleb, that's when he went ballistic on me. So I figured that yeah, that was it."

Sherlock said nothing, just sighed deeply and nodded slowly as he looked away. John nodded. "Alright then, only one thing to do, get the video from them, turn it over to the coppers with your testimony and the bastard will go away for a long while." He stood up and headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, frowning as he watched him go.

"To find that video. Just a little breaking and entering, don't worry, Sherlock," he said with a curt nod and left the room, passing Mycroft Holmes as he left. Mycroft allowed himself a small smile, having walked up to the door when John had started talking to Sherlock. So this fellow was willing to break into someone's place to find this video? For his little brother? His heart clenched and he walked into the room.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

"Mike, I need you to meet me at my place," John said into the mobile.

"What for?" he asked, hesitantly on the other end.

"Sherlock came into my A&E, overdosed himself on a speed ball, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't accidental," he said, jogging across the road toward the bus. "I'm breaking into Caleb's flat. I'm finding the video he took of Sherlock, and then we're taking it to the cops."

There was a long pause. "Okay, I'll be there in fifteen. You have anyone else you want to call in for help?"

Now it was John's turn to pause. "Maybe. I've got a friend that might be able to help. I'll see you there."

The next phone call was shorter. Honestly, there wasn't much to say between them. He said he needed help, and he said he'd come. He hadn't been sure, but he'd known the man from when Harry had been slumming the bars. He'd often helped John get his sister out of them and back home. John had helped stop a couple blokes from rolling him one night, and now he was willing to help anytime John asked. As long as John didn't ask what he did for a living.

A few minutes later, Mike was standing outside his small house and so was a tall blonde man smoking a cigarette.

"Sebastian," John said as he approached, shaking his hand. "Been a while."

"Yeah, your sister hasn't been slumming down in the dregs these days," he said, crushing the cigarette with his boot heel. "You said you needed help with breaking into a place."

"Sebastian, this is my friend Mike. We'll stick to first names considering what we're doing, alright?" John said, opening his door and letting both men in. Mike looked a little nervous.

Sebastian sat down on the couch with a flop. "What's the score?"

"Friend is laid up in the hospital, second suicide attempt after he was raped a couple months ago. We're going in to get the video footage they took of the rape and get it to the cops. They've threatened to release it into less than legal hands if he talks, I'm sure of it, otherwise he'd have reported it. There might also be footage of other incidents. The bastard's done this before," John said, grabbing a beer and tossing it to Sebastian and one to Mike. "No, I'm tired of it. I already broke his nose once; he deserves to be in jail. But his daddy's got money, so solicitors out the arse. Only way it will stick is the evidence from the rape kit collected two months ago along with his telling the cops what happened wasn't consensual, and the video is an added nail to his fucking coffin."

Mike fiddled with the beer. "But if we're caught…"

"Then we'll be caught doing the right goddamned thing," John said, chugging the rest of his beer with a nod. "I'd rather be in jail for trying to put the fucking prat in jail than to watch as someone who I care about continues to self-destruct. He deserves much better than that. Cutting his wrists was bad enough, but now he's a drug addict on top of that, and almost killed himself today by overdosing. So no, I'm doing this. Mike, you don't have to, and neither does Sebastian. Though I doubt Sebastian here will balk at it."

Sebastian smiled, sipping the beer. "Nope, let's nail this bastard. If there's one thing I can't stand it has got to be rapists. They all deserve to be hung up by their nuts. I can respect a thief, or even a murderer, but a rapist? No, that's where I draw my line."

Mike shook his head. "Nope, I'm in. I…I can't imagine that he…such a beautiful mind he has, and so many years of torment and bullying, to finally be brought low by something like this…I'm doing it."

John nodded. "Fine then, come on Mike, got a black shirt you can wear, I'll change into one too. Got a couple stocking caps we can wear."

A few moments later, John was directing Sebastian in his black sedan to the dorm. Sebastian had one eye, though, on the tail they seemed to have acquired. He came to a stop outside the building and the car came to a stop further down.

"John, hate to say it, but we're being followed," he said.

John twisted around and glanced. "Ah, don't worry about him. Just seeing what we do I'm sure. They won't stop us."

Sebastian frowned and stared at the dark windows of the black car. "What makes you so sure?"

"The victim, his brother works for the government. He's picked us up in one of those cars before. I'm sure he'd do what we're doing if he could. Instead, he's going to probably make sure nothing happens to us while we're doing this," John said with a nod, stepping out of the car.

Mike still looked nervous. "But what if they're home…" he said softly.

"Not gonna be. Friday night. Caleb, Vince and Eric are all at that big party at Terrance's place. I doubt they'll be back before tomorrow night," John said, typing in the code to the building. Mike arched a brow at him. "I had a girlfriend that lived in this building a couple years ago."

Before long they found themselves outside the door to the room that Caleb Macavoy and Vince shared. Eric shared a room on the floor below them with someone else that didn't stick around long and moved out, leaving the room private. Once done here, they planned to search his room as well. John pulled on a set of latex gloves and handed a pair to Mike who fumbled them onto his hands. Sebastian already wore leather gloves. He quickly opened the lock, almost as fast as someone with a key, and they were inside. John pulled the blind and flipped on the light.

"I'd say find the camcorder. Then we'll see what kind of tapes we're looking for, and with luck it will still be in it," John said with a nod. After a while, they found a locked box in the self of the closet. "Bingo," John said, glancing at Sebastian.

"I'll have to break it, can't pick that," he said after looking it over. John nodded an affirmative.

A moment later they were holding a small camcorder with the mini-tapes in it. John sighed and licked his lips, seeing the battery was about half charged. He flipped out the screen and rewound the tape about halfway and played it. The image he was greeted with was one he was looking for, even if he didn't want to see. Sherlock's tear stained face was staring right at the camera. He snapped it closed immediately and swallowed thickly.

"This is it. Let's put everything back where it came from, I'll take the tape and put the box back," John said, still slightly unsteady on his feet.

"You think they copied it any?" Mike asked.

John shook his head. "Not with it still in the camcorder. I doubt they've done much with it since then."

Soon everything looked like it had when they entered, and they were out and in the car headed back to John's house. He held the tape in his hand and was nearly sick several times with the thought of the evidence on this tiny tape. He swallowed hard and thanked Sebastian and told Mike he'd be in touch once he'd gotten everything sorted.

"John, how are you going to explain how you got that?" Mike asked, frowning.

"Just going to say someone gave it to me I didn't know at the hospital after Sherlock came in. He's been in drug dens for the last two months, who's to say someone didn't try and help him out?" John said with a nod.

Mike headed back to his dorm, now a private one without Sherlock, and John sat with another beer in his hand staring at the small tape. He had a camcorder that used these, and he wanted to and didn't want to see what exactly had happened. A part of him was revolted that he wanted to watch it, but another part thought that if he knew what had happened, what they'd said to him, that he could help him more. He nodded, choice made, and went and fetched his camcorder and the cord that connected it to the computer. He pulled out a pad and paper to transcribe what was on it. He rewound the tape to the beginning and found that Sherlock's attack wasn't the first on it. He bit his lip as he sped through Caleb taking a very drunk boy to bed, followed by another drunk one that resisted a bit more, but eventually allowed him to do what he wanted, and a third, this one obviously too high to even know his name.

Then he hit Sherlock's section and his stomach flipped. The camera was focused on the bed with Sherlock's curls matted with blood and tied to the head of the bed with ropes around his wrists. His hands were already red from the restricted blood flow. The camera swung around and focused on Caleb.

"Fun times, right?" Caleb said with a grin. "Vince here knocked him a little hard, hope he wakes up, otherwise it really is no fun. Heh, I've fucked plenty unconscious but this is different. Never seen a more pain in the arse fellow. Claims to be asexual, we'll see about that. You think I can make him come, Vince?"

Behind the camera the voice that spoke was indeed Vince. "Well, if anyone can, it would be you," he said with a snicker. "You like to make them come when they scream no, don't you," he said then.

"No is the best, it really means yes, you know. Just like this beauty here. Every time he said no, I heard, 'please Caleb, take me and fuck me until I scream your name'. That's all there is to it. He just didn't know it yet. Oh, shh, here we go…"

John tried to keep from throwing up with all his willpower. Watching what had happened and hearing the horrible things they told him… His heart was in his throat when he threatened to break his fingers so he'd never play the violin again, and the look of sheer terror that passed his face. He studiously recorded word for word everything that was said and then when they gagged him he realized he was crying himself. It was obvious that Sherlock was barely conscious but they continued once Caleb was done. Vince, then Caleb again. Then Vince shoved his trousers onto him and yanked him up from the bed and stumbled out with him and tossed him into the back of their car. Caleb followed, the camera now on the back seat where Sherlock faded in and out, it seemed.

"Best fuck I've had in a while," Caleb said, turning the camera onto Vince. "What about you?"

Vince shrugged. "Still prefer a pussy in front of the arses I'm fucking, thanks, but not too bad…I mean, if you covered up his cock, you'd think he was a girl with those pouty lips and pretty hair."

"Here we go, time to drop off my date!" Caleb said, handing the camera to Vince, and outside was the dorm. Caleb pulled him from the car, giggling madly as he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, unable to even stand. "Bye, bye, lover boy! Was fun!" he called and went around to get back in. Vince kept the camera on him as the retched violently into the grass and then laughed himself.

"Well, that was entertaining…now you done with him? After chasing him almost a semester and a half, one fuck doesn't seem like enough," Vince said as Caleb took the camera back.

"Hell no, he's gonna be my pussy boy now. Just wait. I'll drop by in the morning with something nice, and see if I can't rope him in as a regular fuck," he said smugly. "I think a little 'I'm sorry for taking your virginity' presents are in order. Not like I can't afford them."

"You're hopeless. You think he'll really be your boy? After what you just did?"

Caleb giggled. "But he's so easy to manipulate. He acts so tough, like he doesn't want anyone to be around, all I have to do is use a little persuasion now, I've taken him, made him a dirty little whore, and now I convince him no one wants him but me. But how much I adore him, give him all sorts of little things to show him how nice I can be. And before long, I'll have him pinned to the lockers in the football locker room. And he'll want me to do it, to make me happy, just so I won't ever leave him alone again…"

"You are seriously fucked up," Vince said, eyes on the road. "What's so special about this one? You never wanted to shower anyone else with gifts, just wanted a fuck and run."

Caleb was quiet. "I don't know. Something…different about him. Ah, shit, now look at me, the fucking high from the sex is wearing off and I'm getting all emotionally attached to him. Shit, let's find some blow or something," he said finally and the camera blinked off.

John succumbed then, dashing to the bathroom and vomiting violently. Now more than ever he wanted to destroy Caleb. So he went back and copied the video in the entirety to his computer then to two CDs. He took the tape and one CD with him. He took the second CD and carefully unscrewed the heating vent. He hid it just beyond sight and replaced the vent, making sure to clear the dust around the whole area as if he'd just cleaned that wall. Then he walked outside and looked left and right and saw the black car down further, and trotted down and knocked on the window. It rolled down and a dark haired man with sunglasses stared at him.

"Hey, can you take me to the hospital? To Sherlock?" The man looked confused. "Look, tell Mycroft to meet me there too, I've got something for him."

The man closed the window and there was a wait and then it opened. "Get in," he said.

John nodded, getting in the back and rode in silence. He got out and headed into the hospital, being a student, he wasn't questioned. He found his way to Sherlock's room and found Mycroft sitting in a more comfortable looking chair to the back. Sherlock was sleeping, it seemed. John handed him the copy he'd made. "First thing in the morning, send the cops in here. I'll stay the rest of tonight. In the morning, I'm handing them the video tape, and Sherlock is going to give his statement."

Mycroft didn't completely hide the twitch of a smile at his lips as he nodded and left. John nodded to himself and pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down in it with a deep sigh. He curled his legs under him and before long was asleep himself.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Mycroft stood outside the door for a moment and watched as John Watson fell asleep again. He looked down at the CD that John had given him and swallowed. He did and didn't want to see what was on it, what had broken his sweet little brother into so many pieces. He sighed and headed out to the waiting car that had returned with John. He sat in silence until he got back to his flat. It was after midnight already, but he grabbed a scotch on the rocks and took the CD to his computer and sat down. By the end, his eyes were red, and there was a feeling in his chest he hadn't felt in a long time. Pure, unbridled rage. Not only had they hurt Sherlock, he'd intended to continue hurting him, to abuse him in every sense of the word.

He knocked back three more scotches and then fell into a restless sleep and waited for the morning. When it came he groaned but showered and no one could tell he'd passed out the night before. Seven am on the dot, the door opened and Anthea let herself in.

"Anthea, call in and have the officer that was on Sherlock's case go down to the hospital he's at. Tell him there is evidence as well as a statement from Sherlock waiting on him. Then I want you to put my solicitor on this. I want no mistakes. Make sure that this hits the papers in the worst possible light for the Macavoys. I want them destroyed, the son, the parents, I want their names drug so far through the mud that Caleb Macavoy's grandchildren will still be unclean," he said with a nod. "And the other one too. Make sure that neither of them can escape the fate. I want everyone to know what they are, what they've done. And then, please make accommodations for Sherlock at a rehabilitation facility."

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

John started awake when he heard a whimper from the bed next to him. He blinked and looked over to see that Sherlock's face was pinched and both hands were fisting the sheets desperately. John sighed and stood up and took one of his hands gently and stroked it.

"Shh, Sherlock, you're okay. I'm here, John's here, and I'm not gonna leave you alone, okay? Together we'll figure this out," he said softly until Sherlock's eyes blinked wearily, and stared athim.

"John?" he asked, blinking away the dampness that had risen to his greenish eyes. Today they were green, John thought. Sometimes they were blue. He thought they were very nice either way.

"Yeah, look what I have," he said, pulling the tape from his pocket.

"Is that…?" Sherlock said, eyes widening and hands twitching.

John nodded. "It is. And this, with your statement, means that Caleb will never hurt anyone again, and he will pay the price for his actions."

Just then, a knock at the door came, and it opened, revealing Dr. Brace with a uniformed officer. Brace looked at John questioningly as he stood holding onto Sherlock's hand with one of his hands and holding a mini-tape with the other. John smiled at him.

"Mr. Watson?" the officer said, looking at John. "I was told that this was regarding the assault two months ago and you had some sort of evidence for me? I'm officer O'Fallon, I'm lead on Sherlock's case from two months ago."

John nodded, handing him a tape. "Everything you need to charge Caleb Macavoy is there for what he did to Sherlock. And Sherlock's ready to make a statement about it now, aren't you?"

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. The officer pulled the stool closer and took out a pad and began to write as he spoke.

"Okay, Mr. Holmes, first I have to ask why you're reporting this now rather than when the incident occurred." He took out a small voice recorder and turned it on as he spoke.

Sherlock glanced at John, who nodded and squeezed his hand. "Um, that tape," he said. "He…he said if I told anyone…that he'd send it to this guy he knew in…in the pornography industry…and…that it would be all over the place…and I didn't want that to happen so…"

The officer nodded, jotting notes. "Okay, then tell me what happened two months ago."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Caleb had been trying to get me to go out for months and months, and I…um…I kept turning him down. I wasn't interested in him because…I wasn't interested in anyone. I told him…it wasn't him…I just was asexual. I didn't have any sexual interest in anyone. But…he pushed it, and the day before or of, I don't remember, he pushed me against the wall in the hall and he was telling me it wasn't about a date, he just wanted to…you know…" his face had reddened. "H-have sex and that was it. P-professor Brathas saw that happen."

Sherlock took a breath and John reached one hand behind him and rubbed between his shoulder blades. "Go on, you can do this."

He nodded. "After that, I went to the library, I figured it would be safest to stay with other people, you know public places, but I didn't think he was a danger, but I don't know why I didn't think he was a danger, I just didn't see it…and I should have. It was stupid. He was waiting outside when the library closed and I left to head back to the dorm. He asked me again if there was any chance. I told him no, and then someone, V-Vince I guess, hit me from behind and I blacked out…"

The monitors showed his heart-rate increasing and John scooted down and sat down beside him on the bed, continuing to rub his shoulders as his breathing began to speed up. "I…I woke up and he said stuff about people not telling him no. I begged him not to, and he…he said since I obviously wasn't interested…he'd skip…the…the pleasuring me part." Sherlock stopped there, biting the side of his cheek hard enough that blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. John tsked and picked up a tissue and wiped it away.

"He'd taken off my clothes…well, my trousers and p-pants, and he then took his off and he sat on my chest…and he…he put it into my mouth and said…said to wet it f-for my own benefit… Then he moved and he turned me over and…did that…and then I realized that Vince had a camera and I can't remember what was said, and then when Caleb…he was done and asked Vince if he wanted a turn and I had a panic attack and was screaming so they gagged me, but I couldn't breathe and kept passing out…I don't remember what exactly happened, but I know Vince was there, and I think…I think Caleb again…and then I was falling onto my knees outside th-the dorm…" Sherlock finished and was gasping for air.

"Shh, deep breaths, Sherlock, come on, don't pass out on me yet," John assured him as he rubbed his back.

The officer looked up. "That was when you returned to your dorm and decided to end your own life?"

Sherlock nodded. "I…I didn't know what to do…I was hurting so much…and I knew that no one liked me already, what would come of it when they found out what Caleb did? I just didn't care, I just wanted it to stop so I took Mike's razors out and just cut and cut and cut and then opened the vein here," he said, rolling his left arm over where the long scar was still a little pink. At the top were the track marks.

"What happened then?" the officer said, jotting down.

"I left the hospital and got my things from my dorm. I put my things in my brother's flat, said I'd stay with him, then I just walked out and didn't go back. I had…I had some money, so I found a dealer…and bought some cocaine. It felt nice but it wasn't enough, so I found a den where they showed me how to mix it with heroin. That did it. I didn't have to think…didn't have to do anything. It was nice. Then, yesterday, I guess I got the mix off…and ended up here…" he said the last quietly.

"Accidental overdose?" the officer asked.

Sherlock felt John squeeze his hand. "Sort of. I mean, I don't think I consciously did it, but I certainly didn't care if I died from it."

The officer nodded, finishing his notes, and turned off the small voice recorder.

"Depending on what we can see on here, we may be in touch. Please be safe, Mr. Holmes. Thank you, John. Um, may I ask how you got this?"

John deadpanned an innocent expression. "Honestly, this bloke found me leaving the hospital yesterday and handed it to me. I didn't know what I had until I got home and put it in my own camera. I was very surprised."

O'Fallon looked at him for a long moment than arched his ginger brows and nodded. There was a glimmer in his green eyes as he turned and left.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Six weeks later, John got a phone call he didn't expect.

"John Watson?" the female voice queried on the other end.

"Um, yes?" he said, shuffling across the road from the bus stop to the hospital in a dull mist.

"This is Mycroft Holmes's assistant. Mr. Holmes requests you come with me to his flat immediately. You're supervisor has already been informed of the delay and it has been cleared."

Sure enough a black car sat feet away from him. He put his phone away and got into the backseat and looked at the dark haired woman texting on her phone without looking up, fingers flying. He sighed and decided she didn't seem in the mood for chit-chat. Before long they arrived at a very posh looking set of flats. The woman took him up the elevator to the very top floor where she opened the door then turned and left.

Standing at the large window was Mycroft Holmes. He didn't bother to turn as he spoke. "Mr. Watson. Soon to be Dr. Watson. What, may I ask, is the reason that you've been helping my brother so much?"

John frowned and shook his head. This man. "Well, I think of him as a friend."

"My brother does not have _friends_. I'm sure you've noticed this."

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, he does, whether he thinks he does or not. I'd say breaking into someone's dorm to get evidence to convict his rapist makes me pretty damn close to being his friend. How is he?"

Mycroft was swirling a drink in a highball glass. The ice clinked. "Not good. He's in a rehab facility, and I'm afraid he hasn't done very well. He doesn't eat, and has lost a significant amount of weight. He's already had to be put on a feeding tube and confined to his bed twice in the last six weeks. He refuses sleep at all costs and has to be sedated to even get any sleep. He refuses to talk to the therapists, or to talk in group therapy, and now they are refusing to even attempt to work with him. None of the therapist believe they can help him. They've started giving him regular medications to keep him from acting out against the staff and other patients. He's also taken to refusing to speak. They are unsure how to handle him, and are suggesting I institutionalize him."

John's eyes bugged. "Like hell."

Mycroft turned with a lift brow. "What?"

"You are not going to put him in a fucking mental hospital. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need any sort of drugs to sedate him or to make him stop acting out. He needs to heal and if you were half as observant as you think you are, you'd see that he isn't going to heal there," John's hands had balled into fists. "I'm going to see him. Where is he?"

Mycroft shrugged, handing over a business card with the doctor in charge of him. John nodded and stormed out of the room. Mycroft sipped the scotch and stared out the window again.

"Oh, John Watson, how well I know he can't heal there. And how jealous I am that it seems you are the only person that can seem to get through to him…"

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

John didn't think of the ridiculousness of the situation as he went in the front of the deceptively nice looking building full of high class junkies. How was he going to get into this place to see him when only family was allowed? But the thought didn't cross his mind.

"I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes. Name's John Watson."

The receptionist looked confused, the turned and picked a clipboard from behind her and hummed over it for a moment before gesturing for a man in scrubs to come over.

"Jared, please take Mr. Watson to see Sherlock."

Jared, a shorter man with thick black hair and piercing gray eyes, frowned. "Seriously?" The woman gave him a glare. "This way, Mr. Watson," he said with a sigh.

As they got closer he shook his head. "Dunno what you plan on doing, but he's not really been too cooperative…"

John shook his head as the nurse (orderly?) showed him into a room and followed him in, closing the door behind them. Jared headed over to the bed and shook Sherlock's shoulder gently.

"Hey there, Sherlie, you got a visitor," he said, far too cheerfully.

There was an answering grunt and John saw a flash of black curls. Jared shrugged. "Most you'll get out of him."

John stepped forward and his frown deepened. He'd been restrained, both wrists were bound in the soft cuffs and linked to the sides of the bed, and he had an IV going with saline and electrolytes. That arm was secured down at the elbow so he couldn't dislodge the IV. He was painfully thin. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes sunken with dark circles under them. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at John and blinked.

"J-john?" he muttered and tried to reach up, but whimpered when he couldn't. "P-please…take me…home…"

Jared was staring flabbergasted. John leaned over and pulled a penlight from his pocket and flashed it into his eyes one after the other and took his pulse. "What the hell are you people doing? He's here to detox from heroin and coke and you have him drugged out of his mind on psychotropics? And you have a fucking rape victim tied down to a bed? Do you even have any idea what you're doing to him?"

Jared stared at him blinking. "But…but…he…he gets violent, we couldn't…couldn't handle him…and he was going to hurt someone…we didn't know about the…the…that…" Jared stammered.

John snarled, letting go of Sherlock's hand and grabbing the chart from the end of the bed looking it over and flipped it to the history page. He shoved it in front of Jared. "What does that fucking say?"

Jared swallowed thickly. "P-past suicide attempt post sexual assault, proceed with due caution. May show aggressive tendencies in the next few weeks. Drug use a result of sexual assault."

"He's been here six fucking weeks and no one bothered to read his fucking chart?" John said with a severe tone to his voice.

Jared glanced up at him. "I..I'm just a nurse, man, I don't…"

"No, no one is _just_ a nurse. You spend all day with him. The doctors come in for what, ten minutes a few times a day and look at this chart and prescribe meds based on the shit you _just a nurse_ says about him. Don't you fucking think it might be important to see what the fuck is going on with your patients before you make fucking assumptions that they're just another high brow junkie who turned to drugs because they got bored of spending money?" John was yelling by now, Sherlock's foggy eyes locked on him. The door opened and a doctor came in with security behind him.

"You are going to have to leave immediately, Mr.?"

"Watson. John Watson. And you're damn right I'm going to leave right now," John said, and walked around and began unbuckling Sherlock's wrists one at a time and deftly removed the IV, putting pressure on it for a second before digging a cotton ball and Band-Aid out of the drawer behind him. As soon as both his arms were free he reached out and grabbed John against him and sobbed loudly.

"Hush, we're getting you out of here, Sherlock, don't worry," he said, rubbing his back.

"You can't just waltz in her and leave with a patient!" the doctor said, glancing at the security guards behind him who had tensed but didn't move since the patient was holding onto him.

"I can and will," John said with a malicious tone. "You are a bunch of fucking idiots who cannot even read a goddamned chart and know that you don't fucking strap a rape victim with PTSD to a bed like the men who raped him did and expect him to be a good patient for you. Then you dope him up to keep him calm. He's having fucking non-stop panic attacks and you can't even understand that much. I'll have your heads, or his brother will when I tell him what happened here."

The doctor blinked and turned to stare at the nurse. Jared shrugged. "I guess it was in the chart…" he said sheepishly.

The doctor shook his head and the receptionist came running in and handed a chart to the doctor. The doctor blinked his beady brown eyes vacant for a moment. He ran a hand through his short mousey colored hair and sighed, motioning for the two security officers to follow him, and soon the room was empty of everyone except Sherlock, John, and Jared, who stood staring.

"M'sorry, John, please…take me out of here…can't think straight…all fuzzy…" Sherlock gasped into John's shoulder.

"No, no, shh, come on, let's get you out of here," John said, pulling him up to stand on shaky legs.

John pulled off his leather jacket and eased it onto Sherlock's frighteningly thin frame and held him against him. Luckily, unlike a hospital, this place had him in a pair of plain blue pajamas and there were some slippers near the door that he helped him slip on. Then, he walked him out into the lot where he was unsurprised to see a nondescript black car waiting him. He settled Sherlock into it and scooted in beside him, still hugging him against him. A few minutes later, he led him from the car into his modest little rental house. There was only one bedroom, but they would make due, he certainly wasn't letting him out of his sight. Good thing he had a double bed.

He sat Sherlock on the living room couch and turned on the telly. He pulled the papers from his pocket. He'd stolen the chart before he left so he could tell what drugs he was coming down off of and how long they would last. He still couldn't believe they were so stupid. And Mycroft! How could he leave his brother there? He sighed and brought a blanket out to Sherlock who was shivering though it wasn't that cold. He'd lost so much weight…

John went and made tea, bringing back two cups. He handed one to Sherlock who stared at it a moment before taking it in a shaking hand.


	4. Full Court Press

Mycroft was unsurprised when there was an announcement that a very irate short man had arrived and was insisting on talking to him immediately. Mycroft smiled to himself. This Watson was continuing to surprise him on a daily basis it seemed.

"Send him in."

He came in with a look like thunder on his face. He was pulling Sherlock behind him, who had a surprised expression on his face. He was wearing what were obviously John's clothes, because the pants were too short and the shirt and jacket wasn't long enough. Mycroft hid his grin.

"John, stop, let's go," Sherlock was muttering as John gently pushed him down into the seat closest to the door. He looked at Sherlock who pursed his lips at him. He turned to Mycroft.

"What the hell?" he said, stomping forward and slamming both hands onto Mycroft's desk and staring at the seated man across it. Mycroft almost flinched. Sherlock did flinch.

"I thought you said they were having issues with _him_ at the facility. That _he_ wasn't being cooperative," he said with a growl.

Mycroft sighed. "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely truthful with you yesterday, John. Please, have a seat, and I'll explain. I'm afraid there have been a number of errors in the last few weeks, the largest of which were upon me."

John waited a moment then sat down and crossed his arms. "Six weeks ago, when I had Sherlock transported to the facility, I was assured that they offered the best treatment program for his unique situation. I received satisfactory reports for the first week or so, and then I was sent out of the country for the next four weeks. I had my people check on progress and received reports that Sherlock was uncooperative. I was unsurprised, Sherlock has never done well with the concept of therapy, neither have I, so when they reported he refused group therapy and individual, I was unconcerned. I had told the director that this would happen."

A woman came in and set down a tray with tea on it and offered John a cup, and then handed one to Sherlock. She left just as quickly.

"So when I got back to my office, I was displeased to see a stack of reports from the doctor with the details I gave you. I went to the facility to visit and found Sherlock in a very calm state, and sitting alone. While this in itself was not unusual, I was worried when he didn't seem to respond to me at all. I questioned the doctor and was informed that I was either going to have to commit him for extensive care or take him out of the facility the following week. I called you instead because he wouldn't have anything to do with me. You were the only person I thought might care enough to try and speak to him," Mycroft said with a sigh. "I could not care for him myself, so I had little option."

John nodded. "I think I understand. Obviously you have more important duties than taking care of your little brother. Send his things to my house. I don't doubt you know where I live."

He walked over to Sherlock and took his hand and they left together. Sherlock gave one gaze backward at his brother, but he'd turned and was staring out the window. He was confused still. But he followed John, and they found a black car waiting for them. John didn't question it, just shuffled Sherlock into the backseat and sat down beside him. Sherlock realized he was already tired, and rested his head against John's shoulder. John adjusted and wrapped his arm around his back and tugged him closer to him for the duration of the short ride. He was unsurprised to find Sherlock had fallen asleep on the way there. He smiled and shook him gently.

Sherlock woke with a start and blinked at him. "Come on, we're back."

John led him in and to the bedroom. As he was leaving Sherlock grabbed his shirt hem. "Don't go yet," he said.

John smiled and settled into the bed beside him and pulled him against his side like they had been in the car and Sherlock was soon fading into a quiet sleep again. John, to his credit, had kept his anger in check. He was surprised at that. He picked up the mail on the bedside table and found a summons to court to testify at Caleb's trial. He chewed his lip a bit and wondered how this was to play out. He hadn't set Sherlock's address yet, but he was sure there would be another letter for him. At least the exposure should be brief. There was also a page in his letter to return with the names of any other victims that he was aware of, or people that witnessed the fight they had in the football field. He'd fill it out and mail it back tomorrow with a note explaining that Sherlock was at his address currently.

His mobile rang and he picked it up and spoke softly. "John Watson."

"John, hey, I tried calling you yesterday, what's going on? You never avoid me," Mike's voice came over the line.

John smiled. "Yeah, I had something important to do."

A long silence. "What happened? You sound…different, John?"

"Oh, I just have a sleeping Sherlock Holmes in my bed," he said with a cocky sound to his voice.

Another silence. "No way, what happened? I mean…you didn't…"

"Mike, I'm not a prick. No, his brother called yesterday, I ended up pulling him out of the rehab facility he was in and bringing him back here. Long story, but there was no way I was letting him stay there. I talked to his brother earlier. He's sending his things over here later today," John said, and realized his hand was busily brushing through Sherlock's longer dark curls.

Mike snickered. "You are fucking smitten, John Watson."

John's brow creased. "What are you on about?"

"Ever since the day you met him, you've been fascinated by him, and now you've saved him three times. You're like his knight in shining armor and he's your damsel in distress…" Mike said with an obviously amused tone.

John opened and closed his mouth a few times, every response sounding ridiculous in his head. "I…Jesus fucking Christ, Mike….wow. I guess…I guess…I missed it. I was so busy being worried I didn't notice why I was worried for him…"

"You've done nothing but talk about him and Caleb and the drugs and worry and fret ever since you met him, even if you don't know it. I thought you were straight?" John snorted.

"Never said that, I said I'd dated a few girls. But I've dated a few guys too. So I guess I'm more bi than anything else. Maybe pan, you know, since the whole gender and gender expression doesn't bother me. Love…love is about a person, not what they look like or what naughty bits they have," John said, eyes rolling up at the ceiling. He hadn't noticed the change in breathing beside him.

Mike giggled. "Damn John, I had you pegged for a straight guy hard core, I'm surprised."

John shrugged, hand absently brushing through the dark curls under his hand. "Yeah, well, I like who I like, and I like taking care of people. Generally, it falls into the category that women are the ones that need taking care of. And the few guys I've dated were so fruity it made me cringe. I'm not into the over the top flamboyance expression. I mean, it may be fine for them…but not my thing. And you try finding a male partner who is looking for a person like me."

Mike paused. "You're a top in a same sex relationship? You short little shit," he said snickering. "You…oh my god John, that's hilarious. No wonder you can't find a male partner, they'd all try and top you!"

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well my height has caused more than one…ah…misunderstanding in that area. I'm too into controlling things in my own way, you know. And to be honest, I love to give more than receive in the bed area…if you know what I mean. And let's just say being a doctor certainly doesn't hurt."

Mike laughed again on the other side of the line. "I'm not sure if that was too much information or not, but anyway, what are your plans with your damsel there?"

John sighed, hugging the warm body against him tighter. "Honestly, Mike, I have no 'plans'. Right now, I'm going to help him get through what's happened, get through the trial, and then try and help him get back to normal enough that he can finish uni. If our relationship develops, it develops, but I'm not going to make any moves anytime soon. He's got a lot of healing, and this fucking trial is going to be hard enough. And I want to watch, and I want him to watch, as they take that fucking bastard away in chains."

Mike sighed. "Man, yeah, I got the summons too, next week. Is he gonna be okay?"

John sighed, hand carding through Sherlock's hair again. "No, he's not, but I'm going to be there with him and fuck anyone that tries to argue with me. He's been through enough without the defense tearing into him without someone there beside him. His wanker brother is too fucking busy to bother, so I'll take care of it. Anyway, I'm getting off now, he's asleep and he needs to rest as much as he can. When he gets up, we'll talk over the trial stuff, but for now, I just want to sit here with him."

John clicked off and slid down into the bed, but missed the dampness around Sherlock's eyes, and if he noticed the tightening of his arms around him, he didn't comment.

-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-

Two weeks later, John had his arms linked with Sherlock as they practically ran up the steps into the courthouse. He'd bought him a long coat (a nice one, a Belstaff actually, and it looked good on him) to wear to try and hide but it didn't seem to work because they were being followed by a slew of reporters. Finally they were let in and escorted to the courtroom, where they sat in the first row behind the prosecution.

Sherlock clutched John's hand tightly as both Caleb and Vince were brought into the room and sat at the defense table. John knew it was the first time in almost five months that he'd seen them. And John held his hand in both of his, feeling Sherlock's pulse skyrocket. He leaned over and whispered soothing nonsense to him to keep him calm. Neither noticed when Mycroft entered and sat in the last row to watch the proceedings. It was all a play for the press. Everything was already determined. But it would play out and Macavoy would hang himself in the eyes of the public before it was over. Mycroft only hoped his brother didn't break down in the middle of things.

Things were called to order, and the defense started by calling character witnesses, the Daniels, the Macavoys, all tearful and unbelieving that such a thing could have been said about their sons, and of course, the linchpin to the crime was the video that had mysteriously disappeared from the archives two weeks after Sherlock had entered rehab. With no video proof, there was little to do but use testimony. Of course, neither the Macavoys or the Daniels realized that there was more than one copy of the incriminating video. And Mycroft Holmes would present it himself before the day was over. In fact, copies had already been released to several news outlets, edited for discretion of course. But in Mycroft's pocket was the original that John had handed him. He, of course, had backups.

Finally the prosecutor called Sherlock to the stand. He stood on unsteady feet and walked to the front and sat down, refusing to look up. He was asked to recount his relationship with Caleb Macavoy and Vince Daniels. He repeated the speech he'd practiced so many times with John, trying to focus on the words and not anything in the room. When he was done, the solicitor nodded and sat down. Then Macavoy's man stood and came over.

"So, Mr. Holmes, you're saying you never indicated to Mr. Macavoy you were interested in him."

Sherlock shook his head, his heart rate once more going up. "No," he said quietly. "I told him I was asexual. I had no interest in him or anyone else, for that matter."

"And what does that mean, asexual?" the man asked.

Sherlock looked up and frowned. "Um, it means I don't feel sexual urges at all."

"Really? Not at all?" he asked, unbelieving.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Have you ever had an orgasm?" he asked, receiving objection from the defense. It was ignored.

Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"That's interesting, because Mr. Macavoy indicated that you enjoyed your time with him very much," he said smugly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and glared at him. "Before or after he busted open my skull?"

The man stumbled and turned around. "That is unsubstantiated."

"So the hospital records don't count?" Sherlock asked. "Considering it listed a moderate concussion, severe lacerations and rope burns on my wrists, and several internal tears consistent with the assault I endured."

"It was consensual kink," he said dismissively. Sherlock blinked.

"What?" he said.

"You asked to be tied up, and abused. That is all that is evidence of," the solicitor said with a shrug. "You were ashamed of yourself and your actions, which is what drove you to the suicide attempt and then drug use when the attempt failed. There is no proof that anything that occurred between you and my clients was anything other than consensual."

Sherlock stared, wide eyed at the man, mouth working, and breath hitching. John winced. This was worse than he thought.

"I move to dismiss all charges," the solicitor said, turning and sitting down.

Sherlock was led away from the front and back to John, who pulled him in close. "Not until all our witnesses have been put on the stand," the prosecutor said with a huff.

John was called next, and went over the three times he'd been there to rescue Sherlock. Then the defense came at him.

"So, what is your relationship with Mr. Holmes now?" he asked.

John shook his head. "He's my friend, and I'm helping him out."

"So he's staying with you?" he said, glancing over a file.

"He is."

"In your one bedroom house," he continued. "Tell me, does he share your bed too?"

Sherlock was staring at his hands intently. John shrugged. "He does. He has PTSD. He wakes every night at least three or four times from the horrific nightmares he suffers."

"So you're sleeping together? I thought he claimed he was asexual."

John rolled his eyes. "He is asexual. He requires comfort and safety, I provide it."

"Is there a reason his brother cannot serve this function?" the defense continued.

John colored. "His brother is occupied with his job. He cannot dedicate time to help Sherlock through this, so I volunteered."

"You know, relationships often offer benefits for both parties, and if you aren't getting sex or money out of Mr. Holmes, tell me why you're doing this kindness? Aren't you busy enough with the medical program you are completing this year? Sounds like an awful lot of work for a guy you've known less than a year."

John bit his lip. No cussing, he'd told himself. "Sherlock is an incredibly individual. He's been bullied and pushed around his entire life because of his intelligence. He has little tact and is incredibly honest. He can look at a person and tell you who they're sleeping with, how much they make, and how many pets they own and what kind. He has more information in that head of his than anyone I've ever met. And you know what? He doesn't deserve that kind of treatment. He's so much better than that. The fact that the day I met him I told him just that made an instant relationship between us. He's not used to praise. And so he came to trust me. And I became the person he could rely on. And I'm damn proud of that fact."

"You provided the supposed tape to the police, correct?" he asked, looking at a clipboard again.

"I did, and those gits lost it. Or rather I think someone conveniently got paid off to lose it," he said with a sigh.

"Did you watch the tape, Mr. Watson?" he asked, turning to him. Ah, damn, John thought. He hadn't actually told Sherlock he had.

"I did. I wrote a transcript so that I could use it later in case it was needed."

"And what exactly was on this supposed tape?"

"First, it bloody well isn't supposed, and second it was exactly what Sherlock said in his testimony. Of course, the tape shows more, such as those two gits talking before and afterward. And three other assaults," John glanced to see Sherlock had dropped his head and his shoulders had gone tight.

"I see. Convenient that you got it. How did you get it again?"

"Bloke gave it to me after Sherlock came in on the overdose outside the hospital," he said with an easy shrug. "Figured he was one of his mates from the drug den."

John knew they wouldn't question it further. If they did bring up the break in, they were admitting that there was a tape to steal.

The defense attorney shook his head. "The tape doesn't exist, I move to dismiss…"

"I have something to show the court," Mycroft said from the back of the room, walking forward with a clipped step, umbrella in hand.

The judge arched a brow. "Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft said with a nod to each side. "Now if you please…"

"You can't just walk in with evidence without first…"

Mycroft turned and stared at the lawyer. "It would be in your best interest to be quiet now. You were not privy to this because I knew what had happened with the tape before. Luckily, Mr. Watson here, was a man with forethought. He gave me a copy, and doubtless kept one for himself. I will allow him his own copy, and don't worry, there are already copies at the major news outlets."

Both Vince and Caleb had paled. Neither spoke. Mycroft was brought a TV and looked back. "Please, if you are sensitive, you may wish to leave the room. This has not been edited." He turned to his brother who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Brother, do you wish to stay or go to my car and wait?"

Sherlock just shook his head.

"How can you do this? Are you really going to allow this?" the defense yelled at the judge.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Smithson, Mr. Holmes and I had already discussed this course of action considering the theft of the previous copy of this footage. He has full clearance to present here by the authority of the British Government."

Both solicitors gaped as he turned on the video. He brought it to the first incident on the tape. "As you can see, this is not what most people would consider a consensual union." He sped to the second, and nodded. "Nor this." He went to the third and nodded. "Definitely not this."

000000000000000000 Transcriptional recount of non con scenes, skip to next if you don't want to repeat or get squicked. 000000000000000000000000000000

The entire room was silent, though several had left to wait in the outside. The only people allowed were those involved in the case as the proceedings were not public. He stopped on Caleb's face as he stood over Sherlock's slack body on the bed.

The camera swung around and focused on Caleb. At that point Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to his hands. All he could do was listen; he couldn't watch. The words and the sounds of those around him filled his ears.

Caleb's smiling face lit the screen. The other three clips hadn't had any speaking in them. "Fun times, right? Vince here knocked him a little hard, hope he wakes up, otherwise it really is no fun. Heh, I've fucked plenty unconscious but this is different. Never seen a more pain in the arse fellow. Claims to be asexual, we'll see about that. You think I can make him come, Vince?"

Vince now. "Well, if anyone can, it would be you. You like to make them come when they scream no, don't you."

"No is the best, it really means yes, you know. Just like this beauty here. Every time he said no, I heard, 'please Caleb, take me and fuck me until I scream your name'. That's all there is to it. He just didn't know it yet. Oh, shh, here we go… Oh, he's up, Vince, I was afraid you'd killed him…"

"What…Caleb?" Sherlock flinched, his own voice alien to his ears. Had he really sounded like that?

"Sweet Sherlock, told you, I don't take no." Caleb's voice was accompanied by the squeak of springs. Sherlock's heart hitched.

"Caleb, please, stop this… You…you don't want to do this…Caleb…" Sherlock recognized the fear tainting his own voice and it sounded strange.

"See, I do, Sherl. Vince here is gonna record our little tryst. And if you breathe a word of what happens here, I'm going to give this video to people who will release it to the press and to some friends of mine in the porn industry, and you'll go far, baby,"

"Why?" His own voice was broken.

"Good lord on high, you are a smooth as a little boy, Sherlock."

"Please, Caleb. Don't. I don't…I don't want this…I told you…I'm not interested in sex at all, not with anyone, it isn't you, I just don't…" Sherlock heard the fear that was reappearing in his chest in his voice.

The sound of him hitting him echoed in the quiet room. Vince was laughing Caleb growled at him. "Shut the fuck up, Sherlock. I will break your goddamned jaw, and then every one of your bloody fingers. Then see how pretty you play the violin or rattle off your haughty _deductions_."

He hissed and then Caleb again. "Now, I'm going to fuck you, Sherlock. And I'm going to kiss you, and if you try anything, anything at all, like trying to kick me, or trying to bite me, I will fucking leave you so broken that you won't be able to walk, let alone stand. Do you understand? Don't say anything. Just nod."

The next sounds were his own heavy breath and rustling of clothes.

"Aw, the little freak's shy, isn't he? Think this is gonna be yer best v yet, he's so much prettier than the rest of the boys." Vince's condescending voice.

More clothes rustling and Sherlock hadn't realized he was whimpering at the time. He didn't remember that.

"Normally, I like to make my boys come before I do. But considering how thoroughly uninterested you are, I guess I'll just cut to the chase and fuck your little arse, huh?" Caleb's voice, and he remembered him staring at him, and his face blazed inside Sherlock's mind no matter how hard he focused on the words, the words alone. He needed to hear this. He needed to hear what he had said, what they had said. He had to know. He had to know he hadn't asked for it. He had to know that he had said no until the end. He had to know he hadn't enjoyed it. He had to know.

"P-please…d-don't…" Sherlock almost didn't recognize his own voice. Another sound of being hit.

He heard his own voice whimper in pain then.

"Ah, fuck, I think this is going to be fun. Vince, should I be nice or should I just go in dry?"

"Ah, you know you'll hurt if you go in dry. Fuck his mouth a bit, then go in like that," Vince now, amusement apparent in his voice.

"Open, and if you even think about biting down on me, I will shove my entire fist in your arse. Understand?" Caleb's voice was commanding and stern. A pause and the sound of something Sherlock forced out of his mind.

"It's in your best interest, Sherlock dear, if you get me nice and wet. This is the only lube you're going to get…" Caleb spoke and then the sounds of him coughing and gagging violently. A gasp in the room was heard. Sherlock couldn't deduce at that point. Perhaps the jurors.

He heard himself scream and suddenly he felt someone's hand on his back, and someone else had put their hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Voices he didn't know spoke, and then he felt someone's arms wrap around him and he held back a sob and recognized John's smell. He buried his face in his warm jumper and held onto him. Someone was still rubbing his back behind him.

"Move to the side, I need a better angle," Vince said curtly. Then Vince was giggling.

"Look at this little slut. Isn't he a pretty little whore, even with tears on his face? I think the tears make him even prettier. Here, scream for me again, little slut." Sherlock did scream again, more of a yelp this time.

Sherlock shut the sounds as he clutched into John's jumper and he felt the tears flowing faster now but quietly as he listened to his own pained voice. But he had to listen. He had to know that he hadn't given in, that he hadn't been willing at all…he had to know.

"You gonna take a turn, Vince?" Caleb's exhausted voice.

"Why not, his arse is just as pretty as a little pussy. Keep the camera on him. I know, when you're up again, you can fuck him again before we dump him out. He's such a good little slut."

Sherlock didn't remember this part clearly. But he heard what he'd said for the first time.

"God no, stop, please," his voice was low, and then he started to yell louder. "Someone help me, please! Anyone!" There was a muffled scream and Caleb snorted.

"Well, obviously, he's not gonna listen anymore, shame, woulda liked to seen him suck you off, but he's too far out of it. Go ahead, that should keep him quiet." Caleb now, followed by a pleased grunt from Vincent and Sherlock's continued screaming against the gag.

"Fuck, dude, you sure that's not gonna suffocate him? He keeps passing out?" Vince asked.

"He'll be fine. Hurry up, I'm already up again," Caleb commented.

Finally quiet and then Caleb's voice again. Sherlock had long since become quiet.

"Get is arse in the car, Vince. Gotta wipe down for prints and shit. Go on, I'll meet you there," Caleb was moving around and the sounds of Vince struggling to carry Sherlock. There was a pause followed by a slamming of a car door.

"Best fuck I've had in a while. What about you?" Caleb's self-satisfied voice.

"Still prefer a pussy in front of the arses I'm fucking, thanks, but not too bad…I mean, if you covered up his cock, you'd think he was a girl with those pouty lips and pretty hair." Vince's bored voice.

"Here we go, time to drop off my date! Bye, bye, lover boy! Was fun!" The camera caught the sound of Sherlock throwing up violently and them both laughing at it.

"Well, that was entertaining…now you done with him? After chasing him almost a semester and a half, one fuck doesn't seem like enough." Vince now, distracted by driving no doubt.

"Hell no, he's gonna be my pussy boy now. Just wait. I'll drop by in the morning with something nice, and see if I can't rope him in as a regular fuck. I think a little 'I'm sorry for taking your virginity' presents are in order. Not like I can't afford them." Caleb's voice was grating.

"You're hopeless. You think he'll really be your boy? After what you just did?"

Caleb giggled. "But he's so easy to manipulate. He acts so tough, like he doesn't want anyone to be around, all I have to do is use a little persuasion now, I've taken him, made him a dirty little whore, and now I convince him no one wants him but me. But how much I adore him, give him all sorts of little things to show him how nice I can be. And before long, I'll have him pinned to the lockers in the football locker room. And he'll want me to do it, to make me happy, just so I won't ever leave him alone again…"

"You are seriously fucked up. What's so special about this one? You never wanted to shower anyone else with gifts, just wanted a fuck and run."

"I don't know. Something…different about him. Ah, shit, now look at me, the fucking high from the sex is wearing off and I'm getting all emotionally attached to him. Shit, let's find some blow or something," Caleb finished and the room was quiet.

00000000000000 End transcriptional account of Non con scenes 00000000000000000

The silence stretched for a long moment. The only sound was Sherlock's gasping breaths into John's shoulder. Behind him, Caleb Macavoy's mother was rubbing his back with a tearstained face, whispering how sorry she was, how much she wished she could change things. On the other side, Vince Daniel's mother also sat running hands over his shoulders and staring ahead blankly with red rimmed eyes. The jurors were looking alternatively disgusted and furious and somewhat sick. The judge, who had not watched, having already seen all he needed before, sat and stared at the defense attorney. Mr. Smithson was blinking and staring at the static now covering the TV screen.

"Does the defense wish to change the plea?" the judge asked.

Caleb stood up. "It's fake, can't you see that?" he screamed. "You all believe that little slut freak? He wanted it! He walked by me every day flaunting himself, and even on the tape he was begging for it, don't you see? It was fake, all of that tape. No, he wanted what he got, and it isn't my fault he couldn't deal with being such a little whore bitch and tried to kill himself! Don't blame me for what he couldn't handle!"

The attorney shook his head. "I…can't defend this client," he said, and turned and left the room at a brisk clip. Caleb stared after him.

"I'll defend myself! I'm innocent! I never fucked anyone that didn't want it! Just because he's a prudish son of a bitch and didn't get off, he's pissed!" he screamed, face gone completely red. Beside him, Vince sat and sighed.

"I'll plead guilty," he said softly.

"Smart choice, Mr. Daniels," the judge said.

"No, I refuse, they'll see! I won't plead guilty!"

The jurors left and returned in less than ten minutes with a guilty verdict. Caleb had to be cuffed and drug from the room. Vince went quietly. Sherlock watched, clutching tightly to John as he was drug away, screaming obscenities at Sherlock and swearing to find him again when he got out. Sherlock shivered and collapsed into John's arms again, sobbing loudly now. To his surprise he looked up to see Mycroft kneeling in front of him.

"Brother, mine, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you so many times," he said quietly. "But I want you to be happy. Stay with John. I'll pay his rental fees for you, and I hope you'll finish school. I do love you, brother. I do love you so much more than I can ever say. I am not sentimental, sentiment is a defect of the losing side, and you know that I feel that way. Don't follow me, Sherlock. Find your own happiness."

Mycroft stood and left and Sherlock gasped and leaned against him for a long moment. The Macavoys and Daniels families had both gathered and stood to the side, unsure what to do or say. Their entire world had just crumbled before them. And despite that, they felt pain not for themselves. Mr. Macavoy's phone rang, followed by the Daniels. Reporters were already calling for interviews. John stood and tugged Sherlock's coat on him and grasped his hand and led him to the door. His eyes were red and puffy, but they couldn't stay in the court forever. They had to face the crowd outside.

John pushed through until they were so blocked there was only a choice to speak or continue being pelted with questions. John hugged the younger man to his side and sighed as he felt the trembling in his still too thin frame. Two weeks had seen him gain several pounds, but he was still far too thin for John's liking.

"If you want a statement, get over here now, we won't be repeating it!" he yelled.

Sherlock shivered. "Hush, I got this," John whispered in his ear.

"Who are you?" came a cry.

"I'm John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is my house mate, charge, and maybe more than that one of these days, but I'll answer anything you need. You got five minutes and then we're gone," he said, holding tight to the man beside him who had his eyes darting around at the enclosure of people with microphones and the flashing of cameras.

"What does a guilty verdict mean for you, Sherlock?" came the first question.

"It means he doesn't have to be scared anymore," John answered, and Sherlock nodded absently, eyes still darting around restlessly. "It means there's been justice and Caleb Macavoy is being punished for the horrible person he was."

"Are you still suicidal?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," John retorted, glaring at the blonde woman that asked.

"Will you finish at Cambridge?"

"Sherlock hasn't had time to recover completely, let alone decide what he wants to do in the future. Time will tell."

"John, why would you have watched that video?" came a male voice.

John gritted his teeth and felt the tension in Sherlock's body. "I wanted to help, and to help, I had to know what happened so I could be prepared. The same reason Sherlock listened to the video today. To help in healing."

There were a few more questions and then they were let through to a black car that took them to the small house. Once inside the door, Sherlock collapsed, exhausted on the sofa with a whimper. John sighed and made a couple cups of tea and sat down by his legs.

"You did a good job, 'Lock. Really. No one could have done better than you did today. I'm very proud of you," he said with a smile to his voice. "That was hard, and you did so splendidly."

Sherlock slowly sat up and sipped the tea. "I…I never said yes."

John frowned and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I…I had to know. I didn't…trust my memory. I didn't know if I had agreed at some point, if I had encouraged them to continue, if I had somehow made it happen…" Sherlock said, staring into the swirling tea as his hands shook. "I mean, I could have left, I should have, but I had to know…if…if even once…I had said I wanted that…I didn't have to watch…I just needed to _hear_ and see…if I'd kept fighting them and resisting…because I thought maybe…maybe I did deserve it…"

John set his cup down and took the cup from Sherlock's shaking hands. "Sherlock, no, you didn't stop fighting, and even though they'd threatened to ruin your hands, you still tried to scream for help, because you didn't want anything they did to you. Not at all." He held both of Sherlock's trembling hands in his. Sherlock swallowed thickly at the lump in his throat.

"Did…did you mean what you said…that…that maybe we would be more than just housemates?" he whispered.

John smiled and squeezed his hands gently. "Of course, Sherlock. You are the best thing I've ever had."

"But I'm so damaged, John. Look at me. I'm so…dirty…and used…and…" Sherlock began.

"Hush that nonsense," John said, reaching up and carding a hand through his hair as he stared into his blue eyes. "You are not dirty or used. You suffered a terrible thing. And you managed to come out of it despite everything."

"But…you know that I don't do the emotions thing very well…and I…I don't do sex…and I don't know if I'll ever be able to give you that…" he said, tears collecting in his eyes again.

"Sherlock, look at me," John said, tipping his head up. "You are more to me than emotions and sex. If we spend the rest of our lives together cuddling on the couch or in our bed, than I'm going to be happy with it. If I end up shagging you silly in a week, which I very much wouldn't mind, I would be happy. The only thing that would make me unhappy is having you walk out of my life or dying by your own hand. That would kill me, 'Lock. I've come to love you somehow in such a short time."

"But…but…I'm needy and I'll get dependent and I'll need your help and sometimes I don't talk for days…and I play violin and don't sleep or eat. I'm irritable, I get bored easily if my mind isn't occupied…and I might have some sort of autism or be a sociopath or even a psychopath or have bipolar disorder or antisocial personality disorder or borderline personality disorder or something…and I'm suffering from PTSD and rape trauma syndrome that hasn't passed the acute stage and have those nightmares and might have flashbacks, and…and I'm demanding and will want your attention only on me…and I'll get jealous if you go somewhere…and…and…"

John pressed his index finger against his lips gently. "Sherlock Holmes, I know all this. Just shut up."

John leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against the younger man's and then pulled back with a smile. Sherlock's face had gone red. He reached up and touched his lips with his fingers and stared at John who smiled back. "First real kiss?" he asked. Sherlock nodded. "Well, thank you for letting me give it to you."

Sherlock's eyes filled and he flung himself into John's arms suddenly, knocking the smaller man back into the cushions as Sherlock wrapped both legs around John's waist and buried his head in the small of John's neck with both arms clinging around his neck. His breath hitched and John settled back to weather the coming storm as he felt the wetness begin to seep through his cable knit jumper into his t-shirt underneath. He sighed and stroked his back gently with one hand and pet his hair with the other well after midnight had come and gone.


End file.
